


Losing Him Was Blue

by pepsicola



Series: Passionate As Sin [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other ships unmentioned, Stepbrother AU, Title is a lyric from "Red" by Taylor Swift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-11-28 04:57:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 100,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18203831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepsicola/pseuds/pepsicola
Summary: Some love stories have an end.





	1. Kenny McCormick

**Senior year.**

Kyle insisted we all come over to his house the weekend after we receive our SAT scores. That was junior year in March, but we ended up forgetting about it. So this week, Kyle’s been constantly reminding us that _for sure_ we’re all coming over to apply for colleges. Since the beginning of senior year, we all had a plan to apply for a college we were guaranteed to get into together. It’s a good plan. I mean, who wants to go to college all by themselves? It’s good to have at least one friend going into school with you, in my opinion.

We all walk, a group of five, to Kyle’s place on Friday after school. The winter wind sends a chill down my spine. It reminds me that Christmas is soon. Stan and Kyle talk at the head, Cartman and Leo walking with linked pinkies at the back, and me in the middle. In middle school, I learned to not stare too long at my phone while walking after being hit by a car. But I didn’t die from the impact, no, I died because I hit a pole and it broke my spine. That shit hurted.

My phone pings in my pocket. Either Karen or Henri are texting me. Karen sends me cute animal videos over Instagram DMs, and Henri texts me drafts of her poems to read. I love it when she does that. She doesn’t believe me when I say she’s a good writer. It’s always dark and despair with that girl, and I love her for it. Because while she’s basically female Batman on the outside, she’s got a heart of gold on the inside.

Even before we started dating fourteen months ago, she offered to help me pay for Karen when she goes to college. At first, I was reluctant. I remember asking her about the finances she would use for herself when she goes to college, and she told me not to worry so much because she wasn’t planning on going to a four year university anyway. She said she might go to a community college, but those didn’t cost nearly as much as universities. I remember almost crying when she said she’d help. Kevin promised me that when he and Shelly graduate, they’ll help pay for both me and Karen. And I made Kevin promise to only pay small amounts, like a hundred bucks, since he and Shelly have their own loans to pay off.

We get to Kyle’s and set up camp in the living room. Back in freshman year, the school gave us all Chromebooks of our own, but as soon as we graduate, we have to give them back. It’s the last year I’ll have a laptop of my own before I have to buy one for myself. Or maybe I can beg Token to give me an old laptop of his.

Stan and Kyle take the couch, I take the armchair, and Cartman and Leo are sprawled out on the floor. We all have our Chromebooks open.

“So we all agree to apply for a college in Colorado, right? No less than a two hour drive from home?” Kyle asks.

The four of us agree.

“As long as it’s not University of Denver because Shelly goes there and I don’t need her embarrassing me,” Stan says.

“What?” I say. “I would love to go to the same school as Kevin.”

“Dude,” Stan says. “Our siblings are dating. I don’t need to hear about what they get up to from their friends.”

I shrug. “Okay, true.”

“So where then?” Cartman asks. He’s laying on his side, curled around Leo, who’s sitting up.

“Oh!” Leo says. “What about Boulder? We could all go there and be rivals with Craig and Those Guys since they’re gonna apply to Denver.”

I add, “And it’s still close enough that we could, like, hang out. I like it, Leo.”

Leo beams. Cartman rolls his eyes. He says, “Clyde said that Craig was telling them that he and Tweek might apply for a school in LA so they can live in the Tweaks’ Venice Beach house.”

“Really?” Stan says. “I don’t think I’d have the guts to live in LA in my own house all alone. Even if I was living with someone.”

“Then you’re not all alone,” Kyle points out.

Stan throws his pen at him.

I pull up the website for University of Boulder. “So are we applying for Boulder or what?” I ask my friends when I look up to see them doing their own thing. Stan’s staring at his phone, Kyle’s texting Heidi probably, Leo’s giving Cartman Eskimo kisses, and Cartman’s watching him as he chews his gum and smirks faintly. “Yo, dumbasses,” I say.

They stop what they’re doing and look at me. I point to my Chromebook. “Didn’t we come here to apply for colleges? Because I could be sneaking into a club with Henrietta right now.”

“Yeah. We’re getting to that,” Kyle says, pocketing his phone. “And aren’t clubs too conformist for her?”

I shake my head. “Not if we’re using fake IDs to get into it.”

Leo moves his Chromebook to his lap, typing stuff in. “This shouldn’t take long, right?”

“Right,” Stan says. “Hopefully. As long as you have your essay prewritten.”

We all get into the website and fill out the application. I have good enough grades, and SAT scores, and I’d been gathering a few scholarships. But I’m not excited for student loans.

With a sigh, Kyle says, “My mom wants me to apply to an Ivy League because I have the grades for it. But I’d rather go to a school with you guys than go somewhere on my own.” He’s glaring at his screen like it insulted his girlfriend.

“Really?” Cartman says. He wraps his arm around Leo’s waist almost routinely. “If I got into, like, Harvard or something, I would totally go. Screw you guys. If it’s one of the best schools in America, then yeah!”

“No you wouldn’t, Cartman,” Kyle says. “You say that, but would you really leave _Butters?_ Maybe leave us, but I don’t think you’d leave your boyfriend of four years.”

Cartman gazes up at Leo. Leo runs his fingers through Cartman’s hair. “Hm,” Cartman says. “I don’t know. It _is_ Harvard, after all.”

Leo gasps and smacks Cartman’s arm. He laughs, kissing Leo’s cheek.

“This is really fucking weird,” Stan says. “Because normally, what you two are arguing over would be opposite point of views. Cartman would be arguing to stay, Kyle would be arguing he’d go if given an opportunity like that. What the fuck is the world right now?”

“That’s right, huh?” I say.

Kyle says, “But getting into an Ivy League doesn’t guarantee your success in life.”

“Yeah, but it will get you into better spots in jobs because they’ll see you went and _graduated_ from an Ivy League.”

“Fine, Cartman,” Kyle says. “If I apply to Princeton, then you—”

“Isn’t Princeton in New Jersey?” Cartman interjects with a smirk.

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Fine. _Columbia University_ , then you have to apply for an Ivy League too.”

Cartman shrugs. “Okay. It’s not like I’ll get in though. They only accept the best of the best, and—” He taps his chin, raising an eyebrow at Kyle. “And if I recall correctly, you and Wendy are head to head for valedictorian. Straight A’s all four years of high school, Honors and AP classes, involved in school clubs and sports. Unlike _me_ , who has A’s and B’s, is only in AP Spanish, in no sports, and is in only one club—and it’s the club _you’re_ president of.”

“Shut up, Cartman, and just apply for one.”

Cartman’s finally quiet as he types stuff into his Chromebook. Leo’s watching, and I’m curious to see if he’ll really do it, so I move over to next where they’re huddled up. Upon seeing his screen, I blurt, “University of Pennsylvania?”

“Yeah,” Cartman says. “It’s a good business school, and I want to major in business. My friend who I had Business Skills with sophomore year is planning on going here. It was all he talked about in that class.”

I point to the screen. “It says number _one_ business school in America.”

“That’s just this website though.”

“I didn’t know University of Pennsylvania was an Ivy League,” Stan says.

“Yeah. With a nine percent acceptance rate,” I add.

Cartman fills out the application, copying and pasting the same essay he used for the Boulder application form. He never did tell us what he wrote his about, and he submits it before I can read it. I meet Leo’s eye over Cartman’s shoulder. He shrugs at me like he knows what I’m thinking and he doesn’t know the answer either. Cartman sits back triumphantly, smirking at Kyle. “I did it. Now you do it.”

Kyle rolls his eyes and fills out his Columbia application. We’re all sitting back, listening to the click clack of Kyle’s keyboard, when my phone starts ringing. Stan groans. “Really, Kenny? You haven’t changed your ringtone? Why haven’t you changed it to your K-pop yet? That would be much preferable.”

I laugh, singing along, “ _Check in with me, and do your job, lay on the bed, and give me head_ —” I answer before it can go to dial tone. “Wussup, Kev,” I say to my brother’s face on my screen.

Kevin grins, showing off his straight white teeth. I never got braces, since my parents splurged on him. “A lot, actually,” he says.

Shelly jumps into frame, giving a pretty little wave. “Hi, Kenny. Is Stan there?” Ever since she got her headgear off _years_ ago when she was in eighth grade, she’s become quite the beauty queen. If I wasn’t head over heels for Henrietta and my brother wasn’t dating her, I would totally be trying to hit that.

I don’t have to answer when he stands beside me and says, “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Oh good. I can see you’re at Kyle’s and if you weren’t there I’d be concerned,” Shelly says.

“So what’s been up lately?” I ask.

Kevin and Shelly trade a look. “Well…” Kevin starts. Kyle, Cartman, and Leo get closer to see my screen. Kevin and Shelly are still staring at each other, and I wonder if they forgot we’re here.

Right as I’m about to speak up, Shelly holds her hand up in front of the camera, showing off the small diamond on her finger. “We got engaged.”

It takes a while to process. At the same time a beat too late, I’m pretty sure all of our jaws drop in realization. “Engaged? Like, gonna get married?” I blurt.

“Like Kenny’s gonna be my brother-in-law?” Stan asks. Kyle shakes Stan’s shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

“How the fuck did you afford a ring?” says Cartman.

Leo whacks him.

“Did you tell Karen?” I ask as Stan says, “Do Mom and Dad know?”

Kevin says, “No, I’m calling Karen after this. She didn’t pick up at first.”

Shelly says, “Yeah. Dad cried more than I did.”

“Wait wait wait,” Cartman says. I shift the screen to him. “Give us the full story first.”

Shelly smirks with blue eyes narrowed. “You tell us about Butters first.” She flutters her fingers at Leo. “Hi, Butters. Is Eric behaving for you?”

Leo nods. “He’s been good, yes.”

Cartman says, “There’s nothing to tell. I love him.” He presses his lips to Leo’s cheek. Leo grins and my heart melts for them because goddamn, they seem like they would be a mess but they really got it together.

Shelly sighs. “All right fine. We’ll tell. So during lunchtime today, Kev and I went to this fancy-ass restaurant because we don’t have school today. I didn’t really know _why_ we were going there because it’s not like we can really afford it, so I was kind of dragging my feet. Kev was very excited for some odd reason, so I was getting suspicious. As we were walking to the park after eating, Kev stopped me and I was, like, dude, what the heck are you doing? This is the middle of the sidewalk. And then he got down on one knee and made this not-so-extravagant speech about loving me, and popped the pretty question and the ring. I cried a little and said yes.”

“Uh, no,” Kevin says. “You didn’t _just_ say yes. You demanded how much the ring cost with tears in your eyes and swore to cut off my dick if I spent our rent money on it, and when I assured you I didn’t, the tears fell and you said yes over and over and I managed to get the ring on in all your blubbering.”

Shelly inspects her ring. “I actually like how it’s so minimalistic. It’s nice. Flashy jewelry isn’t really me anyway.”

Kevin holds out a hand like, _We’ve been together for five years. I know what you like and what you don’t like._

Shelly sees his face and giggles, kissing him. “I love you, husband-to-be,” she says.

Even over the phone, I can see how Kevin’s eyes widen at that name. I say, “Kev, did it really just hit you that you two will get _married_ someday?”

Kevin puts an arm around Shelly’s shoulders, glaring at me. “Dumbass, that’s why I put a ring on her finger.”

I laugh.

Stan exclaims, “Shelly!”

She exclaims, “Stan!”

“I know you kinda sucked as a sister for a while, but you don’t suck anymore, and I love you, and I’m so happy for you because you’ve never had it easy, and I just want you to be happy.” He’s got tears in his eyes, and Kyle comfortingly rubs his back.

“Aww, Stan,” Shelly says. “Don’t cry. And hey, maybe you guys can come down with the parents and Karen to come see us tomorrow or Sunday.”

“Please,” Stan says.

“Then it’s decided. See you soon. We still have to call Karen and Kev’s parents.”

We all say goodbye to the newly engaged couple. I stare at my lockscreen of Henrietta sitting at her vanity and putting on lipstick. I really wish she was here right now.

“Dude,” Kyle says. I look up to him glancing between me and Stan. “You two are gonna be in-laws.”

Stan and I trade a grin. “Soon too, I hope,” I say.

Stan high fives me. Then he looks over my shoulder and says, “What the hell are you two doing?”

I turn, seeing Cartman and Leo laying on the floor with their hands intertwined staring up at the ceiling.

“Probably imagining their own wedding,” Kyle says.

“Shut up,” Cartman grumbles, face turning red. So is Leo’s.

The three of us grin at each other.


	2. Kenny McCormick

**Senior year.**

Henrietta drives me, Karen, and Stan to Denver. Stan’s parents’ car is right behind us with my parents. Really, the reason Henrietta’s even tagging along at all is because all of us couldn’t fit into one car. But I’m glad things worked out the way they did. And so is Henri. She was telling me a few months ago how she wants to meet Kevin, since he practically raised Karen and me. She wants to see what turned me into such a pervert.

Karen and Stan sing along to the song playing from the radio in the backseat. It’s one of Henri’s goth bands that I don’t really keep up with. I take one of Henri’s hands off the wheel and hold it in my own. She bites her lip, but otherwise she has no reaction. “I saw that, princess. I see that smile,” I tease.

She rolls her eyes at me, still forcing back that grin. “Shut up, McCormick. I’m not smiling.”

“Hm. Really?” I ask, lifting her hand to my face and brushing my lips over her knuckles. She lifts one of her fingers to flick my cheek. Her lips finally break into a smile. A smile that does not belong on the queen of darkness, but is so rewarding to see because of it. I lean over the center console to press a kiss to her smile.

“I love you, even if love is conformist,” I tell her.

She scoffs. “Excuse you, our love is anything _but_ conformist,” she retorts. “Don’t start connecting conformity to us.”

I nod, squeezing her hand. “Oh yeah. Forgot about that.”

In Denver, we find a parking spot and head up to Kevin and Shelly’s apartment. Shelly answers, greeting us with smiles. She hugs each of us, even Henri, who looks disgusted with the physical contact. “Hi, everyone! I’ve missed you so much. Kev’s changing. He just got out of the shower. Come in!” Shelly leads us into the apartment, and Stan and Karen grab the couch. I squeeze in with them, pulling Henri into my lap. Just us four take up all of the couch, leaving the parents to stand. I’ve been here a few times before. Their apartment is small, but it’s perfect for the two of them. But now with eight of us in the small space, it feels claustrophobic.

Kevin finally comes out from the bedroom, his hair wet from a shower. His face breaks out in a grin when he sees us, especially me and Karen. He wraps us both in hugs, and again, Henrietta is squished in since she’s on my lap.

“I missed you guys!” he says.

“You saw us just this summer,” I say.

He pulls back and ruffles my hair. “Shut up, Ken.” He kisses Karen on the forehead.

“Okay, enough reunion time. I wanna see the ring!” she exclaims.

“Yeah, same,” Stan says.

Kevin walks over to her and puts an arm around Shelly's back. She rolls her blue eyes and sticks out her left hand. “Fine.”

Everyone crowds around her hand. At first, Henrietta and I stick back, but then she drags me over and joins the _ooh_ ing. Stan moves aside to let us in. He’s holding his sister’s hand, tilting it to make the diamond glitter in the light. And that’s really the whole ring. A sparkly rock in the middle of a silver band.

“How much?” Henrietta asks.

“A hundred eighty,” Kevin answers.

“Damn, that’s pretty good,” I say. In the back of my mind, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to afford a ring, even if it is a little over a hundred, which is pretty cheap for an engagement ring.

“When’s the wedding?” Karen asks. “Who are you inviting? Can I bring Firkle? Or Ruby? Or Ike? Or all of them? Is it gonna be a big wedding or a small one? Can I be a bridesmaid—”

“Karen,” Mom lightly scolds.

Karen blushes. “Sorry,” she mutters to Shelly. “I just got a little too excited.”

Shelly laughs, pulling her into a side hug. “It’s okay. And I mean, Kev and I don’t have that many friends. Monica’s my maid of honor. Holly and Angelica are my only bridesmaids. And I was actually planning on making you and Tricia my junior bridesmaids.”

Karen’s jaw falls open. She jumps up and wraps her arms around Shelly’s shoulders. She’s practically sobbing as she says, “Oh my God! Thank you, Shelly!”

Shelly hugs her back. She’s looking at me and Stan when she says, “You two are going to be the groomsmen, along with Monica’s boyfriend. But we’re two groomsmen short.”

Karen pulls back. “Ike and Firkle!” she exclaims.

Henrietta chuckles. “I’m not sure if Firkle’s going to be willing to be a groomsman.”

Karen smiles mischievously. “I can convince him. He’ll do anything for me. Or at least, that’s what Ruby says.”

Henrietta mirrors her smirk. “Oh, trust me. He will.”

I raise an eyebrow at Karen. “And what do you mean by you can convince him?”

She bites her lip and turns pink. “I’m very persuasive with words.”

“What kind of words?” I narrow my eyes at her.

Henri flicks my shoulder. I turn and grin at her. Her eyes roll, and her hands reach out, bringing my head down to hers so she can smudge her purple lipstick onto my mouth. When she pulls away, I keep my hands on her waist.

Stan’s mom asks, “When do you want the wedding to be?”

“We were thinking summer,” Shelly says.

Kev says, “It's the most convenient for everyone. But not this summer, the summer after that.”

Stan and I trade a look. Hopefully by next next year, we’ll be brother-in-laws. He lets go of Shelly’s hand to fist bump me.


	3. Butters Stotch

**Senior year.**

Eric’s room is my favorite place. It’s comforting no matter the weather. It’s a cloudy Saturday in March. The snow outside is gross gray slush. But wrapped up in Eric’s arms, the ugliness of spring snow doesn’t matter. His breath is warm on my lips. I run my fingers down his cheek, and he smiles.

He lowers from his hands to his arms, nose pressing to mine. I lower my eyelids, biting back a grin. I twist his shirt in my fists. He says slowly, “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

“Always,” I tell him.

He chuckles, getting closer, his knee between my legs. “Good.” His lips finally meet mine again, and I reciprocate eagerly. Ever since we got together, he’s become a better kisser. The first time we kissed, I could tell he was hesitant. But that’s not how it is anymore. Now he goes full force kissing me hard enough to numb my mouth and make me breathless.

I like it when his tongue invades my mouth. I like it when he’s pinning me down. I know he likes my breathy little sounds. I know he likes the way I have to constantly grip at him. I know he likes it when I rub up against him.

One of his hands travel down my waist, curling a finger around the loop in my jeans, jerking my hips up to meet his. He doesn’t let me go, keeping me on him. He grunts when I move to feel him better. His tongue licks mine.

A whine escapes my throat. “Eric,” I sigh.

He hums, leaving my mouth to nip at my neck. He lets go of my waist, his hands back on the bed, but I keep my legs around him, not ready to stop.

And then the door opens.

“Eric!—Oh. Oh shit.”

Eric and I stop moving, looking up towards the door and Clyde standing there with Bebe peering over his shoulder.

“Do you fucking mind?” Eric snaps. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

Bebe snickers, wrapping her arms around Clyde. “Clearly,” Clyde mutters.  He gives his head a quick shake. “Anyway, not the reason I came in here. Dude, a letter from Boulder arrived for you just now!” He holds up an envelope.

My heart skips a beat at the news. I sit up, grabbing Eric’s face and making him look at me. His expression tells me he hasn’t really processed the information. I beam at him. “Eric!” I exclaim. “Your letter!”

His mouth opens and closes, no words coming out. “Wh… I’m just trying to fuck you…”

I roll my eyes, extracting myself from him. I put my nose to his, staring into his mismatched eyes. “Eric. College. Letter.”

Last week, my letter arrived, telling me I got accepted into Boulder. Eric had lifted me off my feet and kissed me a million times, which led to us making out on my front lawn. It led to further explorations up in my room.

Finally, his eyes widen in realization. That cloudy look clears from the brown and violet. “Oh shit!” He scrambles off the bed, tripping over his twisted up sheets, taking the letter from Clyde.

As he tears it open, Clyde says, “What happened to you locking your door? It’s legit midday. Mom or Dad could’ve walked in.”

Eric waves a hand at him, discarding the envelope to the floor and unfolding the letter. I take my place at his side, reading over his shoulder. So do Clyde and Bebe. My heart jumps in anxiety. And then I see the words. _Congratulations_ …

I gasp, taking one of Eric’s hands and squeezing it. “You got in, you got in, _you got in!_ ”

His mouth lifts in a proud smile. “How am I supposed to react to this?” he asks.

“I cried,” Bebe offers. “Even though it’s not some prestigious college and just Denver.”

“I jumped onto the sofa and started telling myself how great I was in the third person,” Clyde says.

Eric says, “Yeah. I was there when you did that.” He turns to me, putting an arm around my waist. “And I know how you reacted too.”

I grin at him. He presses a kiss to my lips. “So all of us really are going into Boulder, huh?” he says. “Considering that I’m the last one to get his letter.”

Kyle got his letter a few weeks ago, followed by Kenny, then me and Stan. And now Eric. “Told ya you’d get in,” I say. When we all got our letters and he hadn’t, he’d thought they’d rejected him.

“You did,” he says. He puts the letter on his desk.

“Well, I think we’d better leave you two alone,” Clyde says. He takes a step back. Bebe closes the door. We hear him call out, “Lock the damn door this time please!”

Eric and I trade a look. “Should we get back?” I ask.

He kinda just stares at me for a minute before putting his hands on my hips and backing me up to the bed until I’m laying down again. I’m only focused on him when I say, “We didn’t lock the door.”

He shrugs, smirking and leaning down to kiss me slow. We pick up right where we left off. Only this time, we actually get our clothes off.

 

When we hear a car pull into the driveway at six, Eric and I share a wide-eyed glance. We hurry out of bed, putting on our clothes discarded on the floor and some lost in the blankets. I follow him into the bathroom, where we check ourselves in the mirror. Eric smoothes his waves with water. I flatten a piece of hair sticking up. Our necks are red.

I start, “Do you think your parents might realize…?”

He looks at me in the mirror. “Probably.” He goes back into his room and grabs the letter off his desk. We’re downstairs just as his parents are coming in. Bebe and Clyde watch us from their spot on the couch, looking amused.

Eric’s mom smiles at us. “Hi, boys,” she greets.

“Hi, Liane.”

“Hi, Mom.”

Roger, Eric’s stepdad and Clyde’s dad, points to the letter in Eric’s hand. “What’s that?” he asks.

Eric says, “I got accepted into Boulder.”

His mom claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh, honey!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around Eric and hugging him tight. “I knew you would get in!”

Mr. Donovan beams, ruffling Eric’s hair. “Congrats, Eric.”

Eric looks annoyed but proud as he shoots me a glance and mouths at me to help him. I just laugh. Liane finally pulls away and says, “We need to celebrate like we did for Clyde!”

Eric finally breaks out in a grin. “Casa Bonita,” he says.

His mom nods. “Casa Bonita it is then. C’mon, kids. Get in the car.”

Eric smirks at me, taking my hand. He pulls me to his chest, kissing the top of my head. We get into the car Roger and Liane just came from, already buzzing with childish excitement with the thought of Casa Bonita in our mind’s eye.


	4. Kenny McCormick

**Senior year.**

It’s Sunday, four o’clock in the afternoon. Henri and I are in Denver, throwing out suggestions as to what we should do. She just got off work and I came to pick her up and take her home, but she said that while we’re in the city, we might as well do something. Cars drive past. The streetlights are just flickering on. The buildings towering above us start to glow yellow. Henrietta’s arm is looped through mine.

“What about a strip club?” I suggest teasingly.

She shoots me a glare. I grin, bending my neck to kiss her. “What about no?” she says. “You don’t have money to throw around anyway.”

“True. Aquarium?”

“It’s closed.”

“Zoo?”

“Closing, if not closed.”

“Movie?”

“Sure.” I quicken our pace, down towards the direction of the theater. “As long as it’s not something conformist,” she adds.

“Okay. Conformist it is then.”

She groans, dragging her feet to slow me down. I stop to smirk at her. Her brown eyes are cold. Her mouth is twisted in a frown. Her hair flutters in the wind. I close the space between us, making her look up at me. “C’mon, princess. You know you can’t ever be mad at me,” I say.

The corner of her mouth twitches, and her hand on my arm shifts closer. I don’t break eye contact. I keep staring right into her soul until her lips part in a smile. I’ve only ever seen Henrietta grin wide like this at me. Usually when she smiles, she’s no teeth, but it’s not like that with me.

“Fine,” she says. “But I’m not walking there.”

I shrug, crouching in front of her and pulling her onto my back. She locks her arms around my neck, and we start back down the sidewalk. I start singing “Best of Me” at the top of my lungs.

Henri snorts, clamping a hand over my mouth. Her hand is cold. “ _Shut_ the fuck up, you stupid conformist. With your goddamn BTS.”

I pry her hand off my mouth, defending, “Now, now, princess. You told me that BTS isn’t that conformist because they’re from South Korea and it’s not just some American pop boy band. And don’t pretend like you don’t like my singing.”

Her sigh ruffles my hair. “You’re lucky I love you, dumbass. Because I really hate you sometimes.” She laces her fingers with mine over my shoulder.

I kiss the back of her hand, coming up to the theater. “But you love me,” I remind her.

“I do. And what are you gonna do about it?”

I walk up to the ticket booth. The guy behind the glass window stares at us. I tell Henrietta, “I’m going to make out with you during the movie even though we paid to watch a movie we won’t be watching.”

She scoffs. “Let me get my wallet.”

I hold onto her thighs as she takes off her small backpack to get to her wallet. I read the titles available above in orange lights. “What should we watch?” I ask. “They have _It Follows,_ or _Us._ ”

She grunts, dangling forty bucks in front of my face. “I’ve seen _It Follows_ so many freaking times, and we saw _Us_ last weekend for your birthday.”

I take the money from her. “Those are the only horror movies. It’s March, princess.”

“I thought you said we’re going to watch something conformist?”

“ _Captain Marvel_ it is!” I slide our money under the half circle to the guy in the booth. He accepts the money, getting our tickets, all while never stopping staring at us. I take the tickets and walk to our theater. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Henri flip the guy off. “Henri _etta,_ ” I scold.

She snickers, wrapping her arms back around me and kissing my cheek. It’s rare to see Henrietta without makeup, but today, she doesn’t have her lipstick and eyeliner on like usual. She doesn’t even have foundation on. Just mascara. She’s beautiful to me with makeup or without, but it’s always a little bit funner to mess up her makeup after making out.

“I like your lips,” I tell her as we get into our theater.

“Gross,” she mutters.

“Not like that. I mean, I like them natural.”

“My lips are pale natural.”

“They’re shaped like a heart.”

“What.”

I set her down in front of our seats. “We have nineteen and twenty.” She sits in nineteen. I sit in twenty, lifting the armrest so it doesn’t separate us. The previews are still playing. I trace my finger over her top lip. “It’s shaped like a heart.”

She raises an eyebrow at me. “My Cupid’s bow?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“Yes.”

“Then yeah.”

Her heart-shaped lips quirk to the side. She takes my hand off her mouth, holding it to her cheek instead. I stroke her bottom lip with my thumb. Henri’s got full, light pink, heart-shaped lips, and I’ve made it my duty to kiss them every day. Her eyes flit to the screen, and I watch the previews reflected in her eyes.

“Henri,” I whisper, stringing out the word.

She looks at me. And I lean in close and press my lips to hers. She kisses back easily. A hush falls over everyone in the theater as the movie starts.

 

“I want a tattoo.”

“Do you now?” Henrietta says as we get back into her car.

“Yeah.”

“Of what?”

I stick out my left forearm, rolling up my sleeve. I point to the spot just below the crease of my elbow. “I want it to say eternal,” I tell her. Eternal because I always wonder if I’ll live on eternally, or if when my time is right, I’ll finally die permanently.

Henrietta nods. “I’ll call up Missy.”

Missy, luckily, is available at this last minute hour. Her tattoo parlor closes at nine, and lucky for us, it’s only a little past seven. Since her and Henri are close, Missy is able to take me right away. Walking into the parlor reminds me of the other times I’ve been here to be pierced. Missy pierced my tongue and cartilage. She did all of Henri’s piercings too, as well as tattoos. And now she’s gonna do mine.

Missy sits me in a chair. Henri has my parka tied around her waist as she pulls up a waiting chair next to me. As Missy cleans my arm, she asks, “Where and what would you like your tattoo of?”

I point to the spot I showed Henrietta. “I want it to say eternal, going across horizontally.”

She nods the way Henrietta did. “Simple and quick. And this was done on impulse, huh?” She meets Henri’s eyes across from her.

Henrietta shrugs. “Yeah. He thought it up in the drive from Denver.”

“I didn’t think it up right then in that moment. I’ve been thinking about a tattoo for a while now. You know that. We’ve been watching tattoo videos together.”

She smirks at me, running a hand through my hair. “Okay, Kenny.”

Missy says, “Is there any particular way you want the word written? A certain font or something?”

I glance at Henrietta to my right, her hair falling over her shoulder. I flick her septum ring. “I want it in your handwriting,” I tell her.

Her borderline bored expression lifts in surprise. “Are you sure? You know it’s permanent, right?”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

Missy scoots her chair back, handing Henrietta a pen and a piece of hectograph paper that she’ll use to transfer onto my arm. She glances at me nervously, as if giving me a chance to change my mind. Not happening. I bring her head down to mine and kiss her forehead. “I won’t regret it, if that’s what you’re thinking, princess.”

She sighs, shaking her head. She turns to the counter, the pen in hand and paper in front of her. “Do you want it in all caps, or lowercase?”

“Just the way you would write it naturally.”

She shakes her head again, but she writes on the paper. She holds it out to me when she’s finished. “How’s that?” she asks.

The paper simply reads, “Eternal.” I grin up at Henri, handing off the paper to Missy. “I love it,” I say.

She kisses me.

And the process begins.

 

It only takes an hour. With my arm wrapped in plastic wrap, Henri pays for my tattoo because she still refuses to let me pay for anything. She told me to think of it as a late birthday gift. An eight day late birthday gift. Missy smiles at us and thanks us and reminds me to keep it wrapped up for no longer than twelve hours. We walk back to her car, her clinging to my right arm instead of my left like she usually does.

“Does it hurt?” Henrietta asks.

“No. And I thought it would hurt more when I was getting it done, but it really wasn’t that bad. Did your tattoos hurt when you first got them?”

We stop in front of the car. Henri unties my parka from her waist and helps me into it. We get in, clicking on seat belts. Henri starts the car. “No. I got more fatty areas tattooed, but getting my sideboob tattooed was definitely worse than my thigh.”

I lean back in my seat, letting my arm go limp. It’s sore, but hopefully that will be gone soon enough. Maybe getting tattooed on a Sunday with school tomorrow wasn’t such a good idea. I stare at the road, illuminated by the headlights. I wonder how my friends will react to the tattoo.

“I still think you’re crazy for wanting that in my handwriting,” she says.

I shrug. “I don’t. At least I didn’t get your name tattooed on me, huh?” I turn to grin at her to find the corner of her mouth tilted up.

“True.”

At her place, we stand in the bathroom together. I watch her clean my tattoo. It’s obvious she’s done it before. She gently swirls her fingers over my tattoo, washing away excess blood and ink and everything else that was put on my arm. She’d removed her rings when we got home, and she’d washed her hands before she started fussing with my arm. Her face is pinched in concentration. I can hear her parents watching TV in their room. It sounds like James Corden.

With my free hand, I smooth down her hair. She’d taken out her half braid when we were in the car. The hair framing her face is wavy. I run my fingers through it, parting the waves thinner. She glances up at me. Under her eyes are smudged gray from the mascara she couldn’t completely wash off. My fingers slide down the shape of her jaw, down her arm, her waist, to rest on her hip.

Her pajamas are basically lingerie. It’s a two piece kinda thing. The top almost looks like a crop top. It’s about the right length. Except it’s more like a bra with lace draped just above her pierced belly button. The spaghetti straps show off her pale shoulders, smooth like porcelain.

I remember in middle school how she would constantly get dress coded for wearing spaghetti straps. Like shoulders are distracting to boys or something. I remember her telling off the vice principal about how her shoulders could possibly be distracting to anyone. She got Saturday school for it.

The shorts are just their namesake. Short. The trim is lacey, just like the top. I love how it shows off her perfectly rounded thighs and ass. I can even see Medusa on her hip. Or some of Medusa, at least. The whole set has a silky texture, slippery like water under my fingertips. And I especially love it how when she turns around to tease me with just a little glimpse of her ass.

I remember being shocked to my core when I found out Henrietta’s the type of girl who likes lingerie. But that shock quickly subsided, replaced by a hungering lust to see her in the revealing pieces.

She pats my arm down with a towel, drying me off. She drops the towel in the sink, leaning into me. I tuck her head under my chin as her arms go around me. She yawns, saying, “Who’s Karen staying with tonight?”

I snort. “Firkle, actually. Despite my protests.”

“Hm. He never mentioned anything about that.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

“Don’t worry so much about it. With me and you peering over his and Karen’s shoulders, he won’t try anything.”

I laugh into her hair, squeezing her tighter. “We should go to bed,” I suggest. My feet are getting cold from her marble bathroom floor.

“Carry me,” she says.

I pick her up bridal style and carry her to her room across the way. I kick the door closed, setting down on top of her covers. She burrows underneath the blankets, pulling me in with her. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I spoon her, holding her to my chest, my hand resting on her stomach.

She sighs deeply, snuggling into me. You wouldn’t think a nonconformist would snuggle. But Henri does. And it makes my heart sing as I tangle our legs.

“When are you going to write back to Boulder that you’ll be attending?” she asks quietly.

I make an _I don’t know_ noise. “This week, maybe. You can help me too.”

“What do you mean, help you? All you have to say is yes.”

“I mean help me by reminding me.”

“Oh yeah. Then sure. I’ll have you have it done and sent by Wednesday.”

“Awesome.”

There’s a break of silence, filled with our breathing as our eyelids begin to droop. Warmth settles over me, making me yawn. Henri yawns too. “Love you, Kenny,” she whispers.

“I love you too, princess. Night.” I kiss her temple.

I see her tired smile even in the dark. “Night.”


	5. Butters Stotch

**Senior year.**

It’s hard to believe that a pact we made back in the summer before freshman year is still upheld. Even as seniors, all of us with a significant other, the ten of us still meet at someone’s house on the fifteenth of each month to hang out. Though ever since the middle of sophomore year, we stopped going to each other’s houses every month, and just whenever we felt like it. This fifteenth, we’re meeting at Eric and Clyde’s house.

The group walking back is a big one. There’s ten of us. We look like we’re going on a class field trip. Clyde unlocks the door, and they spill into the living room. Eric gets mail out of the mailbox, and I wait for him by the door. He looks up and smiles at me. I smile back, because Eric’s genuine smile big or small is contagious.

He puts an arm around me, leading me into the house, where our friends are sprawled out on the floor or the couch. Clyde brings in snacks. Eric and I sit on the floor under the window. I lay my head on his shoulder as he takes a chip from the bowl Clyde puts down on the coffee table.

Kyle says, “Hey, Cartman, did you get anything from University of Pennsylvania yet?”

Eric shakes his head. “Not yet. Did you get something from Columbia?”

“Yeah. They accepted me.”

Stan exclaims, “Wow, dude! You didn’t tell me that! Congrats!”

Kyle shrugs. “I got it last night, but I’m not planning on going anyway.”

“What? Why not?” Tweek asks.

Craig says, “Yeah. You got into an Ivy League, dude.”

“I’d rather go to school with my friends. And getting into an Ivy League doesn’t determine success,” Kyle says.

Everyone in the room murmurs about how Kyle’s crazy for wanting to pass up an opportunity like that. I take a chip, sifting through the letters from Eric’s hand. Most of it’s for his parents. But at the very bottom is a letter addressed to him. I read the label, and my eyes widen when I realize it’s from University of Pennsylvania.

I gasp, almost choking on my chip. I start coughing, and Eric pats my back. “Eric—!” I say. I cough a few more times before clearing my throat and shaking the letter. “It’s from Pennsylvania!”

A hush falls over the room. Eric’s eyes grow wide and his hand stills on my back. I give the letter to him, and he stares at it like he’s holding fire.

“Open it,” Token urges.

I see how Eric’s fingers tremble when he tears the seal of the envelope. The paper shakes in his hand when he holds it up to read it. There’s a loud shuffle in the room as everyone gets closer to see the letter. I read over Eric’s shoulder.

That same jumpy feeling comes back to me when I read the words _Congratulations, Eric Theodore Cartman..._

“Oh my God. No fucking way,” Kyle breathes.

My own breath is stuck in my throat. Because Eric got in. Eric got in. “Eric got in!” I shout.

My voice snaps everyone out of their shock. They start beaming and congratulating Eric, but he’s just staring at me like he can’t believe it’s real.

I start laughing, taking his face in my hands. I kiss him, and his lips melt into mine. His hand’s on my lower back, tilting me closer to him until I’m in his lap. He pulls back and just holds me tight like he’s so happy that he can’t express it in words. Only touches.

I’m still giggling into his neck, and he’s still trembling.

“So i-is he gonna go to Pennsylvania or Boulder?”

The question shatters the moment. Everyone looks at Jimmy. He faces his palms out, saying, “Didn’t mean to break the moment. I’m just asking.”

Eric lifts his head from the crook of my neck. Whatever shock or happiness was there before is gone. Now his brows are pressed together and his mouth is twisted in a frown. “No… Jimmy’s right. I need to think about this. It’s a big decision.”

I glance at Kyle, whose face is in bewilderment. He meets my eye, only to look away. I shrug it off, turning back to Eric. I run my fingers over his face. “I’m so proud of you,” I say.

That cloudy look vanishes, replaced by a smile. He presses a kiss to my mouth.

“Kyle, are you really gonna reject Columbia?” Token asks.

Everyone’s attention lands on him. “I mean, yeah. I’m serious when I say I’d rather be local so I can hang out with you guys over the weekends,” he says.

“That or you know you’ll miss Heidi’s pussy,” Jimmy jokes.

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Oh God—really? Already? We’ve been here for less than thirty minutes and you’re already making jokes? Ha ha. So funny. I’m deadass dying right now.”

“Well,” Kenny says, sipping from his soda can. “You kinda did give her a Cartier bracelet for Valentine’s day.”

Kyle throws up his hands. “What does that have to do with the sex jokes? Aside from the fact that you’re all immature teenagers?”

“It means you’re committed to her,” Kenny says.

“How? Legit—how? You got a fucking tattoo in Henrietta’s handwriting.”

Stan says, “Dude, Cartier bracelets cost like a thousand dollars at cheapest! It might as well be a wedding ring! Hell, there are rings cheaper than those bracelets. There was no way I was getting Wendy one when she asked me after she saw Heidi’s.”

“My mom said I could give it to her—”

I glance at Eric, getting bored with the conversation. He looks back at me. I put my face close to his, rubbing my nose against his. He nuzzles into me, staring right into my soul.

I dunno how many times I've said it: I love Eric’s eyes. I love the brown and how it looks like liquid gold in the sunlight. And I love his violet eye and the flecks of deep blue in the center. I love how they’re mismatched, and how from a certain angle on his right side, his eye can look just blue and no violet. Or sometimes all violet and no blue.

I tilt my head like this now, watching his eye fade to blue. He grins. I dip my head a little bit more, and it’s all violet. The brown is constant, and it makes it all the more alluring. Eric’s lips brush mine.

It’s when Kyle starts gesticulating wildly from the corner of my eye do I tune back into their conversation.

“Fine,” he’s saying. “I’ll do it right now in front of all of you. I’ll email the admission officer I’ve been in contact with and tell him I’m not attending.” He pulls out his phone and starts typing into it. Stan, Tweek and Craig, Kenny and Token crowd around him to watch him do it. Clyde and Jimmy share a shrug and peer over Kyle’s shoulder too. Then he flashes his screen to everyone, showing his email to the admission officer. “See? Did it. I’m gonna send it.” He holds his phone up to us, hitting the paper airplane icon in the corner of the screen. The email sends.

“Damn. Hardcore,” Clyde says.

Stan snorts a laugh.


	6. Butters Stotch

**Senior year.**

It takes Eric a while to decide which school he wants to go to. People give him their opinions. Our friends tell him to stay. It’s odd because if we were a little bit younger, they’d be glad to see him go. Now they want him to stay in Colorado so we can all go to school together. His parents tell him to attend University of Pennsylvania. They tell him it’s a good school, and that he should take the rare chance he was given.

And at first, I tried to stay neutral. Because I know my words have more of an effect on Eric than anyone else. When he'd ask me what I thought, I’d tell him to go wherever he think he’d be happiest.

But as the days passed, I realized that if he were to choose Pennsylvania, that means he'd have to live in a different state. I wouldn’t be able to see his face and kiss him every day. The thought occurred to me late last night in his room with Eric asleep beside me. I’d woken up in the middle of the night for seemingly no reason. And I was lost in my thoughts, staring at his relaxed features. And I realized.

I realized that I can’t bear to lose him.

Eric shifts, slowly coming out of slumber. He groans, his arm around me drawing me closer to his chest. I smile, watching his long dark eyelashes flutter open, revealing his beautiful eyes. He lifts his head to kiss my temple because he kisses me every waking morning together.

I love him so much.

“Hey,” he croaks.

“Hi,” I whisper.

His arms go around my shoulders. “I had the weirdest dream,” he says.

I brush his hair from his forehead. His cowlick’s cute. “What about?”

“You were, like, crying for some reason. And we were at school. And I went into the nearest classroom, and a class was in. And I was like, ‘Which one of you trip-ass motherfuckers made my boyfriend cry?’ And everyone just stared at me. Then I fucking realized I was holding Clyde Frog. You, like, turned into him when I wasn’t looking, and I was like, what the fuck happened to Butters? And then I woke up.”

I laugh. “Sounds like a fun dream,” I say.

“It seemed so real.”

“Dreams do that to you.”

He chuckles, kissing my neck. “Want me to make pancakes for breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

We stumble out of bed, Eric’s hand in mine as we walk down the stairs. He leaves me in the living room with the TV on, even though I’m just using it as background noise as I scroll through Instagram. After the pancakes are done, Eric comes into the living room and hands me a plate. We’re staring at the TV when he says, “I’ve made up my mind. About which school I’m going to attend.”

My stomach drops. I find it difficult to swallow my bite of pancakes. “Which—which one?” I stutter out, almost quiet as a whisper.

He leans into me, his head on my shoulder. “I think I’m going to tell Boulder I’m not attending.”

The words take a while to process in my brain. And when they do, I realize what he means. What _it_ means. For him. For me. For us. He’s decided on what I feared.

“Oh,” I say. Realizing it sounds disappointed, I add, “Th-that’s great, Eric. I’m glad you’ve decided.”

He taps his fork against the plate. “I mean, what are the chances that I get accepted into an Ivy League, you know? My mom never went to college. Most of my family didn’t either. Only some went to community college. But they never really made anything of themselves. And here I am, given the chance to go to one of the best colleges in America. I don’t think I can pass up an opportunity like that like Kyle did. It’s just… a really big deal. I could be the first in my family to do something with my life,” he explains.

I want to tell him what Kyle said, about colleges not necessarily determining how you end up in the future. I want to remind him that we won’t be there in Pennsylvania with him because he’s gonna have to move. I want to ask him what he thinks’ll become of us.

But I don’t.

Because this is about him. Not me.

I stare ahead at the TV and the people on the screen. It’s all a blur in my eyes. Eventually, I get out, “If it’ll make you happy, then I completely support your choice.”

He puts his empty plate on the coffee table. I glance down at my own pancakes. They’re starting to get cold.

“Butters?”

I look at Eric. His brows are pressed together, his mouth frowning. My mouth moves, but no words come out. I want him to be happy. I remind myself that I want him to be happy. And sometimes happiness requires sacrifices.

“You okay?”

“I—I just—What about us?” I blurt.

His eyes are on his lap. He sighs. “Yeah. I thought about that too.” He takes my plate from me, putting it next to his. He threads his fingers through mine in its place. “We could try it long distance. I think we could do it. We can do anything together. Every break, I’ll come down to see you. I’m gonna have to since the school probably closes down during that time. And obviously during the summer, I’ll be here the whole time. And breaks are pretty often. I—I think we’d be fine.”

I scoot closer to him until I’m close enough that I’m in his lap. He wraps his arms around me. “I just don’t like the idea of me being without you for so long. We’ve been in each other’s lives since preschool, and now we won’t be seeing each other for months,” I say.

He strokes my cheek, and it calms the anxiety I didn’t know was gnawing at me. It occurs to me that if he really is gonna go through with Pennsylvania, that means our time’s limited. Suddenly, his warmth and his arms around me are the most important thing in the world. “It’ll take getting used to, for sure. But I’ll FaceTime you every day. Every morning, every night, every chance I get,” he assures.

I nod, trying to get as close as I can. He holds me tighter. His heartbeat’s in my ear. I count them. “If you really are gonna go…” I start. “Then this time we have right now’s all we got. Our last moments together. Before you move.”

I feel his throat bobs as he swallows. “Yeah,” he rasps.

And that does it.

My eyes overflow with wetness, and they’re spilling over. In the span of a heartbeat, I’m weeping in Eric’s lap with my ear pressed against his chest. He presses his lips to the top of my head, murmuring things. Murmuring how nothing’ll change, and the four years’ll pass before we know it. And we’ll be reunited again.

“I don’t wanna think about that now,” I cry. “I don’t wanna think about how our time’s limited.”

He squeezes me, his fingers buried in my hair. “How about from this day until, we don’t spend time apart longer than we have to? We can just sleep over at each other’s houses. Never have to be apart.” His voice is cracking as he speaks. He’s falling apart like I am.

My throat burns. “Okay,” I say. His thumb swipes at my cheek, brushing off tears, only for fresh ones to replace them.

All my fears. All my fears of losing Eric are becoming reality. I wish this was just a bad dream I could wake up from. And then tell Eric about the nightmare when he wakes up to my quiet sobs.

But it’s not.

I know it’s not as I dig my fingernails into my forearm and feel the biting pain. My sobs get louder. I bury my face in his shirt, and I remember that it’s barely noon.

“Ssh. Ssh, B-Butts. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” Eric begs weakly.

But we’re both weak. He can’t stop me from crying, and I can’t stop him from going to Pennsylvania.

Because we’re weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And I know it's long gone and  
> There was nothing else I could do..."  
> -All Too Well


	7. Kenny McCormick

**Senior year.**

It was shocking for all of us. To hear Cartman tell us that he’d informed Boulder that he’s not attending. Because he’s going to Pennsylvania. That was this morning when we were all sitting at our table we usually sit at during lunch, waiting for the first bell to ring. Leo at his side looked just as pained to hear him say it as it made Cartman to have the words fall out of his mouth.

It makes me wonder why he’s putting himself through this if he doesn’t seem like he wants to.

Now it’s lunch, and I’m heading to Henrietta and her friends when Kyle steps out of nowhere with a panicked look in his eyes. He grips my sleeve.

“Dude,” he hisses through his teeth. “This is all my fault.”

“What is?” I ask.

He lets go of my sleeve, his face softening into guilt. “Cartman going away. I told him I bet he wouldn’t choose school over his friends, remember? I guess it slipped my mind then how hard-headed he is. And now I made him stick with what he said. I’m the reason he and Butters look like they’re sitting on a ticking time bomb. And I activated it. Holy shit, Kenny. I’m the reason for this whole mess.” He groans.

“No you're not, dude. Cartman said he made the decision himself. He’s doing it because he doesn’t want to be a deadbeat like the rest of his family.”

“No, but that’s the thing,” Kyle says. “Heidi and Stan told me the same thing. ‘He’s going because he wants to, not because of you,’ they’ve told me. But, dude, it’s Cartman. His choices are always influenced by something. And now it’s all my fault. Should I tell him not to do it because he wants to prove a point? Because that’s what he does. Tries to prove a point to me. I should tell him that I get what he meant, and not to go through with this, right?”

I put my free hand on his shoulder, squeezing until he looks at me. “Kyle. If your girlfriend and super best friend told you he’s not doing this because of you, then they’re right. And, yeah, Cartman’s decisions are always influenced by something, but whose aren’t? It’s not your fault. And either way, you heard Cartman when he said he already emailed his admission officer that he’s not attending.”

“But maybe they haven’t given away his spot yet—”

“Kyle.”

Kyle sighs, gripping his jaw. “I just don’t want to be the reason his and Butters’ relationship will have to become long distance.”

I pat his shoulder. “Chill, dude. It’s not. And if you’re really losing sleep over this, talk to Cartman yourself, all right? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I told Henri I’d have lunch with her today.”

Kyle grunts, stepping to the side to let me past. “Thanks, Kenny. For letting me rant to you.”

“No problem. I’ve always been told I’m easy to talk to. Mackey even told me I’d make a good counselor once in elementary.”

Kyle grins, even if it’s a small one. “Well, he’s right. I’ll leave you to it.”

He walks away.

Mr. Mackey telling me I’d make a good counselor is actually the reason I’m planning on majoring in psychology. To become a therapist or something one day. I’ve always been the group therapist, for whatever reason.

I go behind the gym, where the goths always hang out. This year, they lost one member but gained two: Firkle and Karen. They’re freshmen now. Technically, Firkle and Ike should still be in eighth grade, but for whatever reason, they skipped second grade. Which doesn’t make sense on Firkle’s part because all he did was skip class. And then he skipped a whole grade.

Karen and Firkle, like me, have trade-off days where they sometimes hang out with the goths, sometimes with their other friends. Karen tells me her and Firkle hang out with Henrietta and Pete when they can tell Ike and Tricia want alone time.

The four of them look up at me. Karen’s face splits into a smile. “Hi, Kenny,” she says.

With my plate between my feet, I sit between her and Henrietta, throwing an arm around them both. “How was your quiz?” I ask my sister.

Karen shrugs. “I think I did pretty well, but I don’t know for sure.” She rolls her eyes. “You know, the usual.”

I turn to Henri. “And how have _you_ been, princess?”

Instead of saying anything, she puts her hands on my chest and brings her face close to mine so that she’s kissing me deep. I almost feel bad when I lift my arm from Karen to hold Henri. Almost. It’s hard to feel bad when I hear her giggle, then the shutter of a camera. But I don’t bother ruining the moment with Henri to throw a glare at my sister. I’ll take her phone from her and delete the picture from her story after school.

I shudder when I feel Henrietta's tongue caress my piercing, grunting as I drop my hands from her jaw to her hips. I’m about to take it a step further and slip my hands under her shirt when Firkle says, “We’re still here, you know.”

Henrietta pulls back, glaring at the two freshmen behind me. “And it makes me wonder what you two do alone,” she remarks.

I turn my head to see Karen and Firkle glance at each other, ears turning red. Karen startles when she sees my raised eyebrow, and she squeaks, “What do you mean? We don’t do anything when we’re alone.”

Pete barks out a laugh around his cigarette. “Lie,” he says.

Firkle scowls at him.

I shake my head, chuckling. Henri moves her arms up to around my shoulders, putting her head in the crook of my neck. I run my fingers through her hair, amused to see her lipstick is artfully smudged. Like I said, I love messing up her makeup.

She takes her phone from her pocket, holding it up in front of her. She frowns at the screen, glancing at me. “And my lipstick looked so good,” she says pitifully. Then she puts her phone between her legs and reacquaints my lips with hers.


	8. Kenny McCormick

**Senior year.**

It’s May. We're a week away from the last month of senior year. Prom is this week. Or, it is when Monday starts. Henrietta and I haven’t even decided if we should go or not. If we do go, I’m wearing Kevin’s old tuxedo he wore for prom and graduation. It’s your typical black tux. Nothing special, aside from the fact that Kevin bought it with his own money he made. Like Henrietta, when he heard from Karen that prom was around the corner, he drove up to South Park to lend me his tux, making me swear to not tear or stain it.

The thing is, Kev’s four inches taller than me. The pant legs are a bit long, as well as the sleeves. I have it on now, staring at my reflection in the mirror of Shelly’s bedroom. I’m at her place with Kevin because they’re staying over for the next few weeks since they’re out of college for now.

Rolling up the sleeves, Shelly says, “You can get it tailored.”

I stare at my reflection. I look the same, just in a suit a few sizes too big. My hair’s a mess, uncombed since I didn’t feel like combing it this morning. I reminded her, “Henri and I might not even go.”

Kevin and Shelly trade a look from the corner of their eyes the way couples do.

Somewhat jokingly, Shelly says, “Why not? Is it too conformist for her?”

“Nah,” I say. “It’s more me who doesn’t wanna go.”

Kevin stares at me, dumbfounded. “I get it if you have no one to go with, and don’t have friends, but you got friends _and_ a girlfriend. Why don’t you wanna go?”

I shrug. “It’s a stupid dance that costs eighty dollars per person, and Henri wouldn’t _dare_ let me pay for myself.”

Shelly’s lips press into a thin line. “If you don’t go, you’ll regret it. Trust me. I had a friend who didn’t go, and after prom, she was telling us how much she wished she’d gone. It’s actually a really fun experience. An experience you’ll never get the chance to experience again. It’s your last high school dance.”

I scoff. “You already sound like a mom.”

She blushes. I know from Karen that Shelly and Kevin have been talking about kids since they first got engaged six months ago.

“Stan’s going,” she adds quietly. “He said he didn’t want to at first. Things between him and Wendy are getting rocky again, I think.”

I blink in surprise. Yesterday, Friday, Stan and Wendy were wrapped up in each other, grinning lovestruck. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. They seemed perfectly happy. He’s out with her right now too, on a date.

I change out of the tux, handing it back to Kevin. He says, “I’ll put it in your closet for now. If you change your mind.”

I nod absentmindedly, lost in thought. “Sure.”

Shelly’s right. It’s our last high school dance. I’ll never get to experience something like that again. I mean, when’s the next time I’m going to be with all my friends, dressed fancy, before some of them go away for college? Aside from summer, this might be the last fun thing we’ll be able to do together. And maybe I can somehow find a way to buy my own ticket so Henrietta doesn’t have to for me.

I find myself walking down the street to Henrietta’s house. I prepare myself to tell her that I want to go to prom. Her parents are wherever. The car is gone from the driveway. At the store, maybe. I use the key Henrietta gave me to unlock the front door. I go up the familiar stairs, smirking at the pictures of younger Henri flipping off her parents or the camera, looking agitated and defiant as per usual.

I get to her room, the first door on the right. I turn the knob, my mouth already opened to tell her I’m paying for myself for prom and she can’t stop me—but she does. Well, she doesn’t say anything to stop me. I mean she stops me right in my tracks, right in the middle of my thought process, when I see her on her bed.

My eyes rake up her pale bare legs, over the black nail polish on her toes, the delicious curve of her thigh, past her Medusa tattoo. She’s propping herself up with an arm, her hair hanging over her shoulders. Her face is just as bare as her legs, aside from the shine of chapstick on her lips. Her eyes look up from her screen and meet mine, and I choke.

Because she’s in lingerie.

A one piece, black, lacy lingerie that shows off her whole tattoo. Both of them. I can see her sideboob tattoo too peeking just underneath her arm. She tilts her head at me, smirking at my staring. She rolls from her side, onto her back, her hair falling from her shoulders, exposing more of her skin. The lace is thinner around her stomach, darker around the more private areas.

My pants get tight, because goddamn, that lingerie really shows off her curves.

I slowly spin in a circle, making sure I’m not in heaven or something. When I fully round back to her, I say, pointing at her with a limp finger, “Is this for me?”

Her eyes narrow, her smile growing. “What makes you think that? I like wearing this kind of stuff, even when you’re not around.”

My senses come back to me, and I mirror her smirk. “Really? ‘Cause I’ve only ever seen you wear stuff like this around me.”

She lifts her shoulder in a graceful shrug. “Or maybe I wear it all the time, but you only see it when you’re over.”

I nod, running my lip through my teeth. “All right, all right. That’s fair. Considering I didn’t tell you I was coming over.”

She just keeps smirking at me. My feet start walking. My fingers push the door closed. I crawl over her on the bed, right between her legs. As I get closer to her face, she lays down. I bring my face an inch from hers. She drapes an arm over her head, the other around my shoulder.

“What do you need, Kenny? Why are you at my house?” she whispers, her breath rolling out across my cheeks. The thing is, she doesn’t ever smell like cigarettes and coffee. She always smells like lavender and cinnamon.

I run my hand from her shoulder to her thigh, feeling every curve beneath my fingertips. “Can’t I just come over to see my girlfriend?”

She puckers her lips in mock thought. “I don’t know. Can you?”

On the brink of insanity if I don’t do something, I pitch forward and kiss her heatedly. She reciprocates in an instant, close to pushing me off the edge if I can’t have more. She lets me lay on top of her for a while, kissing me breathless. But then she rolls us over, her straddling me, holding my hands above my head. Her lips brush mine as she parts, staring me down.

I’m panting, still wanting to go further, but she asks, “Seriously though, why are you here?”

I try to catch my breath, joking, “Why? Don’t you want me over?”

“I always want you over. I’m glad you’re here, but you were going to say something when you walked in. What did you want to say?”

“Oh,” I breathe. I clear my throat, shifting her lower, right over my crotch. Her eyebrows twitch when she feels my boner, but she keeps her lips sealed. I continue, distractedly feeling up her sides when she lets go of my wrists, “I want to go to prom. I was talking to my brother earlier. Him and Shelly convinced me to go. I know it’s kind of last minute and everything, but it just seems like too big of an event to miss out on.”

She takes my hands from her waistline, putting them on her thighs. I trace the lines of her Medusa tattoo. She says, “Cool, I guess. I don’t care if we go or not, but whatever. That means you’ll have to come dress shopping with me though. Since I don’t have one.”

“Sure. When?”

“Now.”

Still breathing kind of heavy, I slowly move my hand up her back. “ _Right_ now? At this very instant? Because I have something to take care of first.” I shift my hips, making her feel more of the tent of my pants.

She makes a little sound, like a squeak. “Yeah, we can go after,” she murmurs.

Her eyes roll up to the back of her head when I bring my hands to the front, running over her torso and caressing her at the curve of her tits. A sigh passes through her lips, and I sit up to kiss her collarbone. Her own hands travel up my shirt, and it’s gone.

I roll us over again, her back to being underneath me. My voice is husky when I say, “Lingerie looks so good on you. But it’s even better when you’re naked.”

She laughs breathily, pressing her hips to mine, eliciting a grunt from me. I watch as the black lace slips away. “God,” I whisper. “You’re beautiful.”

She laughs some more. She always does when I shower her with compliments when we do stuff like this. I think it’s her nerves. Or maybe she just finds it funny how I can’t seem to control the compliments that tumble out of my mouth.

She brings me down to kiss me. It’s a gentle, lingering thing that only makes me lose all of my remaining clothes and pray nobody walks in at the moment.

 

At some dress place in Denver, Henrietta moves with an extra bounce in her step that makes me grin like an idiot. We lost track of time after going three more rounds. We laid in bed, me completely exhausted, and her trying to coax me into more. I’d told her I’d die if I did anything more than lay there and smoke, and she’d chuckled, making me the little spoon and kissing my shoulder and saying we’d get to five eventually.

I’m still tired, two hours later. I still want to just go back to her bed and fall asleep to her touching my face soothingly. And then waking up to her presenting me a snack (herself or something edible otherwise), back in lingerie, and we’d fuck again, and go buy a dress the next day.

But when Henrietta says she wants to do something, she does it.

So here I am, sitting on a cushioned bench in Denver, watching her try on dresses, all black, with Karen commenting which one she likes best.

Admittedly, it was weird having to pick Karen up from Tricia’s after having sex with Henri four times in a row. With me sitting in the passenger seat, dazed. With my head against the window, staring off into nothingness. With Henri attempting to hide a knowing smirk on her mouth when Karen got into the car.

Karen puts the back of her hand over my forehead. I glance at her. Her eyebrows are pressed together in worry. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look really tired.”

“I am,” I say truthfully. Except I leave out the parts about what happened in Henrietta’s bed.

“You need to go to bed earlier, then,” Karen says.

I nod, knowing I won’t go to bed earlier. I catch Henri glimpsing at us, her mouth tilted up in another smirk as she sweeps her hair into a ponytail to get a whole view of the new dress she’s trying on.

I see myself in the mirror when my mouth falls open, staring at the dress she’s wearing. It’s simple. Satin black with a floor-length skirt. But there’s a slit in the dress, and Henri sticks her left leg out, flashing her tattoo. The neckline drops low. The straps seem dangerously thin to be holding up a dress like that.

“Damn,” I say.

Henri’s smirk turns into a grin. She meets my eyes in the mirror. “Like it?”

“Yes!” Karen exclaims. “It’s perfect. Simple, yet gorgeous.”

I stutter out a reply that sounds like a garbled mess of “Yes” and “Fuck me right now, please.”

Henri laughs, and Karen stares at me like I’ve grown another head. Henrietta walks over to me, and I can only focus on her polished toenails until she sits in my lap. I blink up at her, her face still makeup-free. I brush her hair out of her face to see her dark brown eyes. They’re gleaming, telling me something in eye-language, but I’m too dumbstruck to interpret it.

She puts her lips on mine, mumbling against my mouth, “I think I’ll get this one.”

Next thing I know, Henri’s back in her denim shorts and black cardigan that she threw on over the lingerie to appear more sensible in public. It’s hard to be sensible, though, when the cardigan keeps slipping off her shoulder. The whole outfit is more _sin_ sable than sensible. She pays for the dress, thanking the lady behind the counter. Then we leave, back in the car.

“I can’t wait till my prom,” Karen sighs. “I’m so glad you decided to go,” she says to me. “I want you to tell me all about it after, like Kevin did.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What color would you want your dress to be?” Henrietta asks Karen.

“Lavender. Or black. Either is good.”

Henri nods in approval. “Good choice.”

As we get back into town, Karen says, “You know, Henrietta. I like the way you dress. Kind of. Well, it's not really for me. You’re kind of dressed like a spiffed up stripper right now.”

Henri explodes with laughter, the kind of laughter she usually unleashes around me. I also find myself chuckling, and Karen giggles too. Henri says, “Thank you, I think?” She turns to me. “What about you? Do you think I’d make a good stripper?”

I give her a once-over. I smirk, saying, “Totally.”

Her eyes return to the road in front of us. To me, she says, “You’d make a good stripper too, Kenny.”

“I would,” I agree.

Henri snorts, shaking her head. We drop Karen off at home, where Kevin stands in the doorway, waiting for her. He waves to me as Henrietta drives off. He’s going to keep her company and catch up while I’m over at Henri’s.

At her place, she hangs up her dress in her closet as I lay under the covers of her bed. I’m already falling asleep. Her room is always so dim, in daytime or nighttime. Smells good too, because of the candles. Henri shrugs off the cardigan and hangs that up too before closing the closet door. She drops her shorts to the floor, back in lingerie. Her back is to me, and all I can think as I stare at her ass is, _Goddamn, I’m a lucky motherfucker._

She looks over her shoulder and smirks when she catches my eyes on her. “Staring is impolite, Kenny,” she remarks.

“Well, you make it impossible to _not_ stare, Miss I’m-A-Nonconformist.” She climbs in next to me as I continue, “With all your black clothes, and black lipstick, and death-talk—”

Henri’s lips cut me off. I make a sound of approval, shifting closer to her. When she pulls back and comes back in, the kiss is heavier than the one previous. Then her head is on my chest, her arms around my waist.

I smile, wrapping my own arms around her. “Sweet dreams,” I sing quietly.

She scoffs. “No. Happy nightmares.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“My God, Kenny,” Henrietta mumbles tiredly. “I love you so much.”

I plant one last, gentle goodnight kiss to her mouth. It's 6:47 p.m.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I once was poison ivy, but now I'm your daisy..."  
> -Don't Blame Me


	9. Kenny McCormick

**Senior year.**

Prom. Fucking prom and its formalities and hype. During the school week, my friends and I have witnessed a bunch of cheesy promposals, even one from our one and only Jimmy. He gives us all at the table a look as Annie and Bebe approach, their plates in hand.

Ever since junior year, maybe the end of sophomore year, Wendy’s gals and the joined forces of Stan’s gang and Craig and Those Guys started sitting at one table during lunch. Pretty sure it all started with Stan and Wendy and Token and Nichole, then branched off to Jimmy and Annie and Kyle and Heidi, then Clyde and Bebe.

Annie and Bebe sit down next to their respective boyfriends, greeting them with kisses and the rest of us with cheery greetings. Jimmy pushes forward a small white box to Annie. When she gives him a look, he urges, “Open it.”

She still looks pretty skeptical as she lifts the lid. Her eyes widen, and she shrieks, almost toppling off the bench of the table. Curious, we all lean over to see what’s in the box. It’s a bloody ear, fake obviously. Regaining her balance, Annie scolds, “Jimmy, you ass! I thought it was a real ear!”

He’s laughing, and so are we. “Look under the ear.”

Pouting, Annie stomps her foot childishly and whines, “I don’t wanna get fake blood on me.”

Jimmy shakes his head, his laughter reduced to a chuckle. He lifts the ear for her, taking out a piece of paper, smeared red with the fake blood. He hands it to Annie, who holds it by the white edges. Her eyes fly over it. Then tears start to well. “ _Jimmy,_ ” she says, stringing out his name. She scoots closer to him, pressing herself into his side. His arm goes around her. “Oh my God. I already got my dress, and we already know which corsage we want, and you still hit me with a promposal? You’re cruel!” She kisses his cheek.

“What does it say?” Tweek asks.

Bebe takes the paper from Annie, reading, “ ‘Wanna Vincent van Gogh to prom with me?’ ”

There’s a collective _Oh_ that goes around the table as the meaning behind the promposal comes to us. Earlier this year, Annie did this paper about Vincent van Gogh, and it was, like, a big deal, and it got her a full-ride scholarship into any college of her choice. I don’t know how one single essay got her that, but damn, if I could recreate that, I would. Kevin’s boss when he was working at Johnny’s is paying for his tuition for all four years. I don’t have anyone to do that for me.

I trade a look with Stan. At first, none of us even knew if Jimmy and Annie were going to go to prom together. Their relationship is the most casual out of us all. It isn’t exclusive. The first time we saw Jimmy with some other girl, and we’d asked what happened between him and Annie. He’d said that they were nothing serious. She was seeing other guys, he was seeing other girls, and maybe they’d make it back to each other one day.

It happens twice a month, at least.

So when Jimmy casually stated that he and Annie were going to prom together, it took us all by surprise.

Annie’s still weeping over the promposal, and I think about how I didn’t prompose to Henrietta. But then again, even I, a part-time nonconformist, think promposals are fucking cheesy as hell. Each of my friends did a promposal for their partners in some way. Just not as extravagant as buying balloons to spell out _Prom?_ the way some dude on the football team did for his girlfriend, who’s on the swim team.

Craig bought Tweek coffee that had the question written on the cup. Wendy tossed Stan a paper airplane in the middle of class. Token bought Nichole a single rose with a notecard taped to the stem. Leo grabbed Cartman’s arm and wrote “Prom?” in Sharpie across his wrist. And I like to imagine that Kyle asked Heidi by spelling out “Prom” in condoms on her bed, one of which they used to fuck with. Other than that, I have no idea how Kyle asked Heidi, aside from the knowledge that he asked her. Clyde went the furthest of us all, writing out Taylor Swift song references on a poster board that spelled out the question to prom. Naturally, Bebe threw herself at him and said yes over and over, and that if he didn’t propose to her for real like this, she’d be disappointed, but she’d say yes to that too, no matter what. And Clyde said he’d think of something way more epic than a few song references to propose with.

I wonder what Henrietta’s reaction would’ve been if I did prompose.

As soon as school started on Monday, she practically pushed me out of the way to get in line to buy our tickets before I could. Naturally, I was annoyed that she spent eighty dollars on me. She brushed it off like it was nothing, which it isn’t. She already spent at least a few hundred on her dress, then on the tickets, and I’m going to be livid if she rents a limo. Sometimes, I think she does this shit to make me anxious.

But, lucky for me, there’s one last thing that I can spend my own money on that she hasn’t even thought about yet: the corsage and the thing the girl pins onto the dude's lapel. I get that usually the girl buys the dude the thing, but Henri’s already spent enough for this dumb dance, and the least I can do is buy a few flowers.

I swear, she makes me feel so useless sometimes. I get that and I love that she’s only doing it to look out for me, but still.

I nudge Tweek’s foot under the table. He looks up at me. “Hey, after work, can you drive me to the florist?” I ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “Corsage?”

“Yup.”

“Sure.”

 

After my shift at Tweek Bros, Tweek tells his dad he’s taking a break to take me to the florist. I hate not having a car of my own. Kevin took dad’s old truck, but only because he was the one who fixed it up. Having to ask my friends for rides kind of really sucks. Craig is already in the driver’s seat. I get into the backseat.

Tweek and Craig share a kiss, and when we have our seat belts buckled, Craig drives off.

The florist always smells sickly sweet. The overwhelming scent of flowers invades my senses, almost making me gag. Tweek scrunches up his nose as he brushes his fingertips against a rose.

Craig says to me, “It’s a good thing you had us take you. Tweek and I still have to get the flower thing.”

“Boutonniere,” Tweek supplies.

Craig nods. “Yeah, that.”

I laugh. “Yeah. Henri wouldn’t let me pay for anything, so I’m buying her corsage and the boutonniere, and she isn’t here to stop me.”

“I don’t think they have black roses,” Tweek says, surveying the small shop.

There are reds, pinks, oranges, and purples. No black, but I was expecting that. I walk up to the counter where some middle-aged lady is standing. She smiles at me. “Here for prom corsages?” she asks.

“Yeah. Is it possible for you to do, like, a white rose with black decorations for the corsage and boutonniere?” I ask.

She bends at the knee behind the counter, setting two clear plastic boxes on the countertop. In one are two white roses held together with a black ribbon. The other is similar, just with one rose and less ribbon. “Like this?”

“Exactly like that,” I say. “I’ll take those.”

She taps on the screen in front of her, saying, “Your total is fifty dollars. Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” I fish out my wallet, pulling out two twenties and a ten.

I trade her for the flowers. “Thanks,” I say.

She beams. “Have fun at prom.”

I step back to let Tweek and Craig pay for their boutonnieres.

Back in the car, Tweek says, “How do you think Henrietta will react when she sees those?”

I glance at the boxes in my lap. “Probably pissed that I spent money. But she won’t be too mad. Just a quick reprimand and we’ll be on our way.”

I see Tweek smile in the rearview mirror. “She only does it because she’s looking out for you,” he says.

“Yeah,” I sigh, “I know.”

“I never thought those goths could be tied down, but I guess there’s just something about you and Karen that draw them to you,” Craig says.

I snort at his reference to Karen and Firkle. When they go to prom in three years, Firkle better count on me and Kevin being there to warn him that if he messes with Karen, we’re gonna make him regret it.


	10. Kenny McCormick

**Senior year.**

I insisted I drive to the venue for prom. Henri just glared at me softly, kissing me without tiptoes because of her four inch heels. “How the hell did you afford two tickets that cost eighty dollars anyway?” I ask.

She shrugs, gazing out the window. Her makeup is the most minimalistic I’ve ever seen it. She’s not wearing eyeliner. She did the smokey eye look thing, except she used more natural colors, like browns. She has fake eyelashes too, but they look real. Instead of the usual darks she uses for lipstick, her lips are a coppery brown. She’s gorgeous.

She answers my question, “I had a sugar daddy.”

I don’t think I heard her right. I can only quickly glance at her as I’m driving. She’s rubbing her thumb over the white rose of her corsage. “Wait, sorry. Could you repeat that? I misheard you.”

“No, you heard right. I had a sugar daddy. Freshman year. This businessman in his late forties paid me to pretend to be his daughter. He’s lost her a few months prior. Not only that, but his business was failing, and he’d just found out his wife had been cheating on him for a year. Naturally, he was upset. His life was completely flipped on its head. He saw me walking down the street in Denver with Michael, Pete and Firkle one day, and he stopped me, thinking I was his daughter, alive and well. Michael and them kept walking, but I noticed them stealing glances back, making sure I was okay and that he wasn’t going to run off with me. When he realized I wasn’t his daughter, he explained to me that she’d died in a car accident. I looked just like her. He apologized, but then he got this idea, saying he’d pay me two hundred an hour if I kept him company. Like, wear his daughter’s clothes, call him Papa like she used to. He even addressed me by her name. It was weird, but he was a grieving man. And at the time, my parents had cut off my allowance, telling me I should get a job if I wanted money.

“He had a nice house. It was big, with big windows that let in sunlight, expensive furniture, a maid. He even had a pool out back. It was always quiet, since his wife was never home when I was over. Most of the time, he let me wander around his house like his daughter might. There were still a few pictures of her in his office. I could see the resemblance between us. We both wore black, had resting bitch faces, and our body types were similar, but she was a little bigger than me. You could tell she’d dyed her hair black though. You could see her blonde roots in the photos. And her eyes were hazel. More green than brown like mine.

“In fact, I would’ve dated you sooner, but our ‘contract’ stated that since he didn’t allow his daughter to date, I couldn’t either. But he did tell me that when she was about my age—since she was a year older than me—she went behind her parents’ back and got with this boy. She lost her virginity to him, they were pissed, whatever. So when I had sex with that nineteen-year-old I told you about, I told him, and it was kind of freaky how happy it made him that I was practically recreating what his daughter did. Granted, the boy she had sex with was her age, but I didn’t tell him that my guy was nineteen. He paid me three thousand dollars that day for making it so realistic. On a normal day, he’d pay me eight, maybe nine hundred."

I sputter in disbelief. She takes my hand, running her thumb over my skin as she continues, “Our contract was about to expire in a month. He told me he wished he could extend it, but he’d already spent half his bank account on me. That, and he gave me all the money he and his wife had saved up for their daughter’s college funds. He said he gave all that to me because he knew his wife was taking money to spend it on the guy she was cheating with. At the end of the year, he’d given me just a little over three million dollars.”

“Holy shit!” I exclaim. I see her kind of jump at my outburst. “Sorry. I’m trying to not make any comments, but, fuck, a little over three  _million_? How…?”

“To be exact, it was about a three-point-four million he’d given me.”

“The fuck?!”

“I know.”

“Okay, okay,” I breathe. My phone tells us we’re five minutes away. “I’m over it. Well, not really, but—continue.”

“That’s really it. It was nothing sexual, thank God. But I just call him my sugar daddy because one, I can’t tell anyone his name because people would take it wrong and think we _were_ in a sexual relationship. And two, because sugar daddies either want sex or company or both from younger women. He just wanted company,” she finishes.

“And he was pretending he was your dad to his daughter,” I add.

“Yeah.”

“Man,” I say as I find a parking spot on the curb. “That shit’s wild. And fucked up.”

Henrietta undoes her seat belt. “Definitely.”

I get out of the car to open her door for her. She takes my extended hand with a roll of her eyes and a smile. She brushes her hair off her shoulder. She’d curled it at the ends. It’s not a look I’m used to on her. But as she smooths out her dress, all I can do is stare. This girl has gone through more fucked up shit than she lets on, and she moves past it with ease. It's admirable. She squeezes my hand still in hers. “Let’s go inside.” She jerks her head at the ballroom behind us. “Shall we?” she asks.

I laugh. “I guess so.”

Finding our friends poses as a tougher issue than I’d originally thought. Everyone in our class seems to be here, in dresses and tuxedos. I suddenly feel self-conscious about my knees exposed through the rips in my black jeans. Kevin’s pants that he bought with the whole tux really wasn’t doing it for me. When Henri saw me at the bottom of the stairs when I came into her house, she’d approved. But everyone else looks so formal and fancy.

An adult waves Henrietta and me over to the nearest corner of the ballroom. A blue screen is set up, and there’s a short line of couples waiting for their pictures to be taken. “Do we have to?” Henri grumbles to me.

I laugh.

After we get our pictures taken, I find myself holding Henrietta’s hand tighter when we wade through the crowd, getting pushed around by dancing bodies. I try to excuse myself, but the music is so loud that nobody hears me. And they don’t seem to mind when I push past them.

That’s when I spot Heidi gripping Red’s arm as she looks around. They look lost. Or at least Heidi does. “I like Heidi’s dress,” Henri comments.

Heidi’s wearing a two piece dress in minty green. The skirt is long, sweeping the marble floor. The top has more jewels. Red’s dress is a one piece in contrast and has a short skirt. It’s gray, but she also has a jeweled top.

“Really?” I ask. “I’d think you’d like Red’s better.”

“Too short.”

“Oh.” We get closer to the girls. Heidi notices us and beams. “Hey, guys!”

“Sup,” I shout over the music.

“Have you seen Kyle? Red and I went to the bathroom and we’ve lost them.”

“Nah. We just got here. But we’re looking for them too.”

Heidi frowns, tossing her gaze around the room. Then her eyes widen. She bounces up on her tiptoes, her arm high and waving. “Hey, Kyle, you want your cock sucked?” she shouts.

Shocked laughter leaves me as I look where she’s facing. Kyle and all the others are by the far right wall through the part in the crowd. He stops talking to Stan at the mention of his name. He sees Heidi and starts walking towards us, his head hung low as he tries to cover up a grin and a blush even I know is there in the dim lighting of the ballroom. People around us glance at Heidi like she’s crazy. She just laughs as Kyle gets close enough to hug.

“Did you really have to add the last part, baby girl?” he asks from within her arms. “Uh, hey, Kenny,” he greets.

I cover my mouth, trying to stifle my laughter. Heidi doesn’t reply, instead singing the song blasting over the speakers and dancing over Kyle.

I lock eyes with Red, who mouths, “This girl, I swear.” She gestures to follow her.

Lining the walls of the ballroom are tall circular tables. Our group managed to score two. I shoot Stan a finger gun when he says, “You’re late.”

“Maybe you’re just early,” I say.

“It’s nine thirty. Prom started at eight,” Craig says.

“Time is an illusion. Humans use it to try to understand what’s going on around them, but really, it’s always the same day repeated. There is no tomorrow, no yesterday. Only today.”

“Kenny.” Cartman sips from his Mountain Dew, but he pauses to say, “Shut up.”

Henri’s arm goes around my waist as I laugh, “Whatever, dude.”

Hours pass, spent with Henri dancing and snacking on the fancy beverages and finger foods they have laid out on a long white table. An hour from midnight, Henrietta and I go out to the back of the ballroom. She pulls a pack of cigarettes from her purse. I take one as she takes one for herself. We put the ends together, and she lights them. We sink to the floor together, smoke unfurling from our cigarettes and into the night air.

I keep my arm around Henrietta’s shoulder, kissing her between puffs. I can taste the chocolate mousse we shared on her lips. The wind blows through her hair, pushing it onto her shoulders and tickling my nose every time I get close.

Against my lips, she murmurs, “I need to talk to you.”

The words send a chill down my spine as I pull away. Henri takes a drag, using her free hand to unravel myself from her. My heart kicks, my eyes going wide.

No. No, God, no. Please. This can’t be happening.

“I’ve been thinking,” she continues. She meets my eye, and I can feel it all crumbling down. I put my arms right back around her, reeling her in to my chest so she can feel my pounding heartbeat on her arm. She pushes back my hair clinging to my sweaty forehead. “You’re going to start college in a few months. When my mom thought I would still be going to college, she told me to go in single, even if it means coming out single. She said that her and my dad were high school sweethearts, and she dated him throughout college. But she regrets it because she could’ve met other people if she’d taken a break from him for that period of her life. And it got me thinking. What if you met someone else in college? I wouldn’t want to hold you back—”

“Princess,” I start, voice cracking. My chest is cracking in half. Can you die from heartbreak?

“Ssh,” she says, stroking my cheek. The world is in her eyes, and I’m losing it. I’m losing it, and I can’t do anything about it. “I’m not saying we cut off all contact. I’m just saying I want you to not feel constrained when you go to college. And if it helps, if you’re ever feeling lonely, you can come to me. But that can start a week after today only, only three times a week. And just because I’m doing this doesn’t mean I’m going to stop helping you pay for yours and Karen’s tuition. I’m still going to do that. I still love you. And hey, if when you graduate college and neither of us are in a relationship, we can pick up right where we left off. Okay?”

All I can offer her is a jerky nod after still silence that lasts too long.

“There’s an hour left before the dance ends. Why don’t you go back in there and spend it with your friends?” she says.

“You’re going to leave?” I whisper, afraid that if I speak any louder, I might actually cry.

She nods. “A week, Kenny. Then, if you feel like you really need it, come to me.”

“Can I kiss you? Or is that too intimate?” I find myself asking.

She smirks. “C’mon, Kenny. We broke up, like, two seconds ago and you’re already losing all your nonconformity,” she jokes.

I laugh, and even though it’s a weak one, there’s still a shred of joy in it. I close the space between us and kiss her for the last time.

The last time this week, anyway. Once it’s up, I’m going back to her.

Parting ways stings. I stay with my friends, and she tilts her head at me as she continues towards the entrance. When she’s lost in the crowd, I just stare at the spot she was. God, this sucks.

“Kenny?” Leo stares up at me with furrowed eyebrows. “Is everything okay?” he asks. Cartman, Kyle, and Stan are off somewhere, probably getting into trouble.

“Well, Henri just broke up with me,” I say with the fakest laugh that follows.

His face falls. “I’m so sorry. I—I never woulda guessed. You seemed so happy.”

“No, we are—were. She just said she doesn’t want to hold me back when college starts,” I clarify.

His eyes glaze over, and something in me tells me he understands that completely. “I, um, I really wanted to show you this dance I learned that you might be familiar with, but... I dunno. I don’t think it’ll lighten your mood much,” he says. He presses his fists together.

I shrug, putting my hands in my pockets. “It’s cool. And, hey, maybe this dance _will_ help me.” I shoot him a grin. It's a grin that holds no humor, no joy.

He smiles back sheepishly. “Okay. I think you might know it, but, uh—”

He turns red. He shakes his head. To the song playing, he starts dancing a dance I’m very familiar with. I feel my face break out in an even wider, much more genuine smile. “Shit, you know the dance to ‘Fire’?” I exclaim.

He nods, laughing. “Yeah! I learned it when Eric was at work, and I was bored doin’ nothing.”

“That’s so cool! You have to teach me sometime.” I pause. “Do you know…” I point a finger gun at him.

“What? This one?”

He points two finger guns at me, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He bobs as he pulls back his arms. He pulls it off flawlessly. All I wanna do is hug him. I have a weird urge to kiss him too, but it's a passing thought. “Dude, honest to God, you’ve made my whole fucking day,” I say.

He beams, brighter than the few lights in the ballroom. “Thanks! I'm glad I could help.”

Suddenly, Cartman comes out of nowhere, wrapping an arm around Leo. He pulls him to his side. His eyes stay on me, narrowing, as he says, “C’mon, B-Butts. Let’s go dance.”

“Okay!” Leo exclaims.

They walk away, but not before Cartman throws one last glare at me over his shoulder.

“What’d _I_ do?” I ask no one. Still, I glance at Token and Nichole. They just shrug at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I got a bad idea  
> How 'bout we take a little bit of time away?"  
> -bad idea


	11. Butters Stotch

**Senior year.**

Stan’s that one kid who sneaks alcohol into prom. He _isn’t_ that one kid who pours it in the punch, thankfully. Against Wendy’s demands, he brought a little flask he snuck into his coat pocket. He has Eric’s cup in his hand as he pours in the vodka. He hands it back to Eric when it’s little more than half filled.

Eric takes it from him, sipping. He winces, but other than that, he has no reaction. The music pounds in my ears as he hands it to me. I’ve never had alcohol before. All I know is that it doesn’t taste so good and makes your head woozy after one too many cups. Stan and Kenny told us that. Kenny left a few minutes ago. I hope he’ll be okay. He’s sadder than he’s letting on.

My fingers brush Eric’s when I take the cup from him. He gives me a small smile when I hold it up to my lips. “It’s gonna be fine,” he assures me.

I tilt the cup back, letting the alcohol flow into my mouth. It burns when I swallow it, and I come up coughing. Eric takes the cup from me, rubbing my back. “You’ll get used to it,” he says. I’ve known him all my life and spent more than half of it with him. He says it like he’s used to the sting of vodka. I know he’s not. This is his very first alcoholic drink too.

I nod, still covering my mouth as I clear my throat. I look at Stan, who’s drinking from his cup with ease. “How can you drink that stuff?” I ask.

He shrugs. “You get used to it,” he echoes Eric.

Wendy sighs. “An eighteen-year-old like you shouldn’t be used to it.”

Stan presses his lips to her temple. He and Wendy were both nominated for prom king and queen, but Clyde and Bebe ended up winning. Stan and Wendy were more happy about Clyde and Bebe winning than they were when they found out they were nominated weeks ago.

Eric takes another sip, and there’s something so enchanting about the way the light plays on his features when he looks off as he drinks. When he lowers the cup, I take it from him, throwing it all back. I hold the back of my hand to my face, shoving the empty cup to his chest. He chuckles at me as I’m recovering from the burn in my throat and the spinning in my head. My tolerance must not be very high, or maybe the newness of it all is making it get to my head quicker.

Stan pours Eric another drink. This time, he pours me my own. I stare at the cup in my hands. There’s less in here than the cup previous. Eric bites the lip of the cup, grinning at me. He winks, and then we’re both throwing back our drinks. Stan continues to pour us more and more. It’s a competition we both entered without having to say. We’re competing to see who can drink the fastest, who can get tipsiest the fastest.

I’ve barely had four until the world is slipping from under my feet. Eric catches me by the waist, laughing as he rights me. A giggle escapes my lips. I brush back his hair, purple in the lights.

“You’re real pretty!” I shout over the music.

He laughs again, chucking my chin. The whole venue is suddenly so much more colorful, with so much more movement. I can feel the vibrations of the music in my bones and in my blood. I point to the large crowd in the middle of the floor. “Let’s dance!” I say.

I don’t wait for him to respond, already pulling him to the center, my shoes scuffing under me. I pull him to me, our noses bumping. Eric’s all smiles, and I’m lost in his eyes. It’s like looking at a completely different person. His hair is textured from the heat of the venue. His nose has a bump, his lips are just right with being not too big and not too small. And his teeth are straight and white. There’s a chubbiness to his cheeks, but an attractive amount. His whole face is pretty. So pretty. I love it. I love him.

I realize my mouth is hanging open in awe, my forehead against his as we dance offbeat to the music. He pushes his lips to mine, and he tastes sweet. Not at all like the liquor we’ve been drinking.

I break with a gasp. “I’m drunk!” I blurt.

Eric laughs, squeezing his eyes shut. “No shit, B-Butts!”

I tilt my head. “Are you drunk?” I ask, my feet still shifting to the beat.

He gives me a lazy nod and nonchalant shrug. “Probably. Just not as drunk as you.” He cups my cheeks, a soft smile on his face. He comes in slow, his kiss gentle.

I’m pretty sure I fall asleep on the limo ride back to South Park after prom ends. It’s more of a half-asleep because I still hear the dull murmur of tired conversation, see the glowy lights lining the limo behind my eyelids, and feel Eric’s heartbeat under my cheek and his arms around me. Token’s parents rented the limo, and it’s big enough to fit our whole group. All something-teen of us.

Then we’re waving goodbye to the limo as we’re dropped off at my house. I use Eric as a crutch as he leads me up to my room. I think my parents are on the couch glaring at us. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Surely they would say something if they saw me come in drunk with Eric who’s also drunk but not as drunk as me. Are they even home?

Eric sits me down softly on the bed, helping me out of the tuxedo. My head lolls onto my shoulder as he unbuttons my shirt. I watch him in front of me. His fingers fumble, but he looks so concentrated. I giggle.

His eyes flick up to mine, raising an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Music,” I mumble.

“Music?”

“I want music.”

Eric shakes his head, smiling. I run my fingers through his waves as he puts on music for us. I smile with no teeth when I hear the familiar tune of “3:15.” I’m on my feet, pulling Eric up. Then we’re dancing like we were at the prom venue. This time, though, we’re not holding each other. This time, we’re only a few inches apart, bouncing and bobbing to the beat separately, but so together. Eric stumbles over the words, making up lyrics of his own.

I laugh. “No, that’s wrong,” I whine playfully, shaking him by his shoulders. He holds my wrists against him to stop me, bringing his face to mine.

“Well tough shit,” he breathes.

I scream the lyrics, “ _Drove two hours just to stay the night with you_

_Haven’t seen you in a year, but I still get you_

_Hurts to see you laugh ‘cause I know I’ll fucking miss that_

_How could I forget that?_ ”

He shushes me just as loud. I laugh, my head falling against his. It hurts when our foreheads crash, but I don’t care. All I care about is the way it feels to have his arms slide around my waist with every movement we make.

We continue dancing, just being silly. Right before the chorus each time, we look at each other, completely still, and then start dancing again after the transition. Somehow, we come back together, his arms on my shoulders, mine around his waist. Our foreheads touch again. His eyes are closed as he sings, _“You made me feel alive_

_Fuck them other bitches, I will put ‘em to the side_

_Shit’s so real, baby, look me in my eyes_

_You’re so money, baby, you ain’t even have to try…”_

Eric doesn't finish the high note. He speaks instead.

"I’m gonna marry you,” he says abruptly, a fire behind his mismatched eyes. “I’m gonna fucking marry you, and whisk you the fuck away from here and your stupid-ass parents, and we’ll be happy. So fucking happy. I promise, baby.” He pokes my bottom lip drunkenly as he says more quietly, “I’m gonna marry you, B-Butts. I mean it. I mean it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I say breathlessly.

His lip quirks to the side and up. He makes a happy noise in the back of his throat. He puts his forehead back on mine, taking my hands and lacing our fingers. Our palms touch. Our noses slide past. Our lips connect.

And I love him.

 

I wake up in my bed with Eric at my back. We’re laying on top of the sheets. He’s still breathing heavily, an arm around my bare waist. We’re both stripped down to our boxers, our clothes on the floor. Despite summer coming in and the warmth it brings, I’m cold. Goosebumps cover my arms. I shiver, pressing into Eric. He's so warm. He just murmurs in his sleep. My feet feel like ice. So I put them against the warmest thing closest to me: Eric’s legs.

That jolts him out of sleep. He sits up fast, glaring at me tiredly. His hair’s all messy and his lips are pouty, and he’s still just as pretty as last night. I chuckle, sweeping his hair to the side, away from his eyes. “You need a haircut,” I say.

“And you need to put on some fucking socks,” he retorts.

I laugh as he pulls back the covers on his side and rolls me into it, covering me with the blankets. He does the same to where I just was, crawling in beside me and taking his original position as the big spoon, his face on the back of my neck. He kisses me there, and I giggle again, wriggling under his arms that only tighten at the action.

“Sssh,” he says. “Go back to sleep. It’s too early for this shit.”

“My clock says it’s past noon.”

“Your clock is wack.”

“You’re wack.”

“And I’m about to whack _you_ if you don’t go back the fuck to sleep.”

“That’s abuse!”

Then he’s attacking my neck with his lips and teeth and it tickles and feels so good that all I can do is squirm and laugh quietly. When we’ve calmed down, his words come out as a tried croak. “How’s your head?” he asks. His fingers rake through my hair, massaging the base of my neck.

I sigh at the feeling. “Fine.”

“You don’t feel like barfing? There’s no pain anywhere?”

“No.”

“Same.”

“Why’d you ask?”

“I don’t know. Guess we weren’t that intoxicated.”

“I think we intoxicated each other more than the alcohol did.”

“True. But we should still drink a lot of water.”

“How do you know all this stuff?”

“This is South Park, B-Butts.”

“Oh yeah.”

It reminds me that we won’t be in South Park for much longer. Most of us will be in Denver, or Boulder. And Eric in Pennsylvania. The thought brings fresh tears to my eyes. It never even crossed my mind at all last night that he’s going away soon. I wish I could go back to that bliss.

I force the thoughts away from my brain, snuggling into Eric’s chest. I seek out the feel of his heartbeat on my back, sniffling. His hand ghosts over my cheek.

“Ssh,” he whispers, almost as if he knows exactly what I was thinking. Maybe he does.

Even if it is past noon, we both easily slip back into peaceful slumber graced with dreams of wedding rings and forevers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's a quarter after three  
> Sayin' everything we mean..."  
> -3:15


	12. Kenny McCormick

**Senior year.**

On the day before graduation, I’m taking all my shit from my locker that’s accumulated over the year when my door slams shut, narrowly clipping my fingertips. I spin to return the glare Cartman has me fixed with.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I demand.

He scowls. I haven’t seen that look on his face in such a long time that it brings back a flood of memories from elementary school. Leo’s really changed him.

His hand leaves my locker door, instead jabbing a finger in my chest. “I know your secret,” he growls through gritted teeth.

I blink at him, squinting and shaking my head. I throw up my hands. “What?—What secret?” I ask. "That I die all the time? You know that, asshole."

He sneers. “I know you’re into my boyfriend.”

I’m about to burst into disbelieving laughter. But then his face falls. It falls to complete vulnerability, his eyes on the floor. His hand drops down to his side. He looks so defeated. Only Leo’s ever seen this part of him. I don't know how he can take it, I realize. Seeing Cartman so unguarded is like seeing someone's head get chopped off right in front of you. It's not normal.

His voice cracks as he whispers, “Take care of him.”

I grab his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. “What are you talking about, Cartman? You’re not making sense.”

His eyes get red and start watering. He blinks hard, swiping his sleeve across his nose. “I’m going to college in Pennsylvania in the fall, as you know. As  _everyone_  seems to fucking know. I won’t be here for him like I have all these years. I’m _leaving._ For four years. I just—I want you to love him in the ways I couldn’t. Protect him like you always have.”

Before I can express my confusion and the big, bold letters spelling out _What the fuck is going on?_ in my head,he walks away. And I’ve never seen him walk so drained and unconfident, like he just wants to shrink into himself.

 

It’s graduation day. It’s the last day of senior year. My brother told me that the ceremony is long and boring, and you can’t be caught on your phone because you’ll be frowned upon. He said it happened to the kid who was sat next to him during the ceremony. Since it was the last day, there were no major consequences, but the shame it brought was worse than punishment. But thankfully, I made it through without getting caught. The girl next to me had her AirPods in the whole time, but nobody could tell because of her hair. It reminds me of how Cartman always says people with AirPods are just too broke to afford the wire. He says people who have them deserve no rights.

I don't understand what he said to me yesterday. It's been running through my mind since, and I can't make sense of it. Maybe he's just going delirious because he's only got a summer left in South Park. I mean seriously, what the fuck does he mean by love Leo like he couldn't? They're still together, as far as I'm concerned.

Fancy diplomas are nice and all, with your name embellished on it in curly gold letters, but now I’m more anxious walking towards Henrietta talking with the other goths after leaving my diploma with my family. I saw how Kevin and Karen cast worried glances at me as I left them and Mom and Dad after saying I had to congratulate a friend.

They don’t know that during the senior picnic, I talked to her for the first time since we’d broken up. Of course, we did more than talk. We talked, then snuck away to the storage building of the lake we were at and had quite a time recreating the slow caresses that used to happen in her bed.

She catches me walking over. She says something to her friends before meeting me in the middle. “Hey,” she says. Her hair is in a messy braid crown. It reminds me of how she did Karen’s hair like that once. Back when we were still together.

“Hey,” I say.

“Congratulations on graduating.”

My laugh is strained and nervous. I rub the back of my neck. “Thanks. Same for you.”

Her head tilts in the slightest way, an expression of amusement on her face. Lately, she’s been using less black lipstick, less thick eyeliner. She’d be so pissed if I said she really _was_ just going through a goth phase. “You look nice,” I say.

“You can’t even see my dress,” she points out. She’s still wearing the graduation gown.

“I can see your face.”

“Fair enough.”

She takes a step closer, and I want to reach out and kiss her so badly, but my siblings are watching. They don’t know that I’m still sexually active with Henrietta. She says, “Does your family expect you home at the moment? Or can they wait an hour?” The glitter in her dark brown eyes makes my stomach do flips at the implication.

“Uh, no. But let me go tell them.”

She nods, going back to Pete, Michael, and Firkle. They’re all watching me, even as she goes back to them. Well, Michael and Pete watch me. Firkle’s eyes are focused on something behind me. Probably Karen. And I’m right. When I turn around and walk back to my family, Karen’s looking at Firkle.

I step up to my parents. “Is it cool if I meet up with you in an hour?” I ask them.

“But, Kenny,” Mom says. “We were gonna go out to eat.”

“I—I know. And we still will, but I just have to be somewhere right now,” I tell her. I glance at my dad. He’s just looking at me. Then he trades a look with Mom.

She says, “All right. An hour. Meet us at Denny’s in _one hour,_ Kenny.”

I give my parents a last hug. “I promise I’ll be there.”

I go the direction I came before catching the way Kevin stares after me with more concern than my parents. My parents never ask where me and my siblings go. They just aren’t like that.

Henri sees me coming and breaks off with her friends. We walk side by side in silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my friends with their families, and I feel their eyes on me as we go past them. The last time I went off with Henri, my friends weren’t around to witness it. And now they are.

I wonder what they’re thinking.

"My parents came to the graduation, but I drove here with my friends. I refuse to be seen with my parents,” she says. “But since I’m going back home, we have to take my parents’ car." So she leads me to them.

"Oh. Sorry about that," I say.

The smile she gives me makes my heart clench. "Don't be. This was my idea." When she puts her hand on my wrist, I want to hold her while I break down crying and beg for her to come back.

“Can we go?” she says to them, but she more demands it than asks it.

“Hi, Kenny. Congratulations,” Mrs. Biggle greets with a smile.

“Hi. Thanks.”

With most people in relationships, they know at least the basic things about their partner’s parents, but since Henrietta isn’t close with her parents, I was never given the chance to get close to them. Aside from their names, I know nothing about them except for what Henri tells me.

“Let’s _go,_ ” Henri urges.

“All right, we will,” her dad says in a scolding manner that has no effect on Henri.

The drive is quiet aside from the radio playing classic rock. Henrietta holds my hand the whole drive, and I’m reminded of how much I miss these simple things we used to do.

At Henri’s house, we go straight up to her room. It never bothered her if her parents heard us. There have been many instances in the past where we’d get up to things with her parents downstairs or in the room a few doors down.

She unzips her graduation down, tossing it aside. Her dress is black, backless. She comes closer to me, pressing herself up against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, kissing her temple.

This dress is easier to take off than what I imagine the undressing of her prom dress to be like. Back before prom happened, I imagined it ending with us going back to her place and discarding the fancy clothes until we were bare in her bed, moving against each other the way people in love do.

But we didn’t.

It’s just another one of my endless fantasies.

Being tangled up in Henrietta’s sheets with her, feeling her sigh against my lips, feeling her skin slide against mine is satisfying and passionate. But there’s something about the knowledge that I’m no longer able to connect with her like I used to when we were together that blocks me from feeling pure bliss. There’s something lonely about being friends with benefits, knowing I won’t be able to have her back the way I used to until I graduate college.

Despite it all, I kiss her slow and deep.


	13. Butters Stotch

**Summer.**

Two weeks after Token and Nichole’s whirlwind wedding at the end of June, I’m about to leave the house after breakfast when my dad stops me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demands from the couch.

“E-Eric’s,” I answer truthfully. My hand’s on the doorknob.

Mom comes from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

Dad scowls. “You _know_ how your mother and I disapprove of that boy. You know how we hate how you spend more time at his house than your own,” he snaps. “And as of lately, you’re never home. Never. It’s always at his house. And when you’re not at his house, he’s here. We can never have a conversation with you without him being right next to you!”

I glance at Mom, whose lips are pressed into a thin white line.

I explain, “He’s goin’ away in September. He’s goin’ to Pennsylvania, and I won’t be able to see him for a long time after that.” More quietly, I add, “And I love him.”

Dad scoffs a sound of disgust. “You love him,” he mocks. “Get up to your room. You’re grounded. I don’t want to deal with this anymore.”

My jaw drops. “Wh-what? N-no. I—I can’t be grounded. I need to spend as much time with him as I can before he leaves—”

“I did not ask for lip!” Dad roars.

Tears spring to my eyes. My heart speeds up the way it used to when I got hollered at as a kid. “I-I’m sorry, sir, but you gotta understand—”

“I don’t have to understand anything except that you’re talking back when you should be marching up to your room and _staying_ there for a month!” he spits. His face is red with anger.

Normally, I would be scared out of my shoes. But not now. Just not now. Mine and Eric’s time is limited. I can’t be a month away from him. “Please. You don’t understand,” I cry.

I send Mom a look of assistance, a silent cry for help, but she just disappears back into the kitchen. Dad gets up slow from the couch and walks over to me. I continue to try to get him to understand, but his teeth only bare and his hand only latches on hard to my arm. He drags me up the stairs, and my fight is weak as I protest. “I’ll come home tonight, I promise. I—I’ll even make dinner. But _please_ just let me see him.”

His hand tightens on my arm, his grip starting to hurt as I stumble up the steps trying to follow him. I watch my tears fall to the stairs. I listen to my pathetic whimpers.

“Don’t you _dare_ try to negotiate this.” He throws me into my room, leaving me to trip over my feet until I catch myself.

Back when I was younger, there would be rare times I would refuse a demand to go up to my room. My dad would do this, grab me by the arm and haul me upstairs and throw me into my room. Back then, I would fall on my face from the force of it. But now that I’m older and have more control of my limbs, I no longer fall.

“I’m eighteen! I’m an adult! You can’t ground me!”

I don’t even realize I’ve shouted it until Dad’s eyes widen. His scowl grows deeper, and he steps into my room to backhand me across my mouth, leaving my lips numb. I remember being in elementary, back when he would wear his wedding ring. Sometimes, my lip would split when it made contact with my mouth. He wouldn't even let me leave my room to clean up, so I'd sit on my bed with a bloody lip, holding in sobs in fear of being backhanded again. He doesn't wear the ring anymore, so my lip stays whole.

He grabs me by the chin rough enough that I fear bruises. His fingers dig into my skin. His words are dangerously low when he says, “As long as you live under my roof, I can ground you all I want.”

He lets go of me, but it feels more like a push. I stumble back. The door slams shut, and I hear it lock. Most kids have locks on the insides of their doors. My parents got mine changed years ago. They can lock it from the outside and I can’t do anything about it.

I fall on my bed, crying loud into my pillow.

It’s not fair. They don’t understand. _No one_ understands.

I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. The tears streaming down my face are hot with anger. My teeth grit. Burning fury roils about my chest. I haven’t been grounded in so long. I forgot what it feels like to be confined to one room for more than a few hours. The only room I would willingly confine myself to is Eric’s room as long as he’s in there with me.

An idea, a crazy stupid idea pops up in my brain.

I sit up, wiping my face with my arm. I grab my empty backpack near my desk and start filling it with clothes I pull from my closet. My lip quivers as I scowl, practically punching my clothes to the bottom of the backpack.

Satisfied to see it bulging with fullness, I thread my arms through the straps. I take down my fairy lights, wrapping them around my arm, tucking the battery pack beneath the cords to keep it fastened.

The glass of my window is warm beneath my palms. When this kinda stuff happens in the movies, the setting is cloudy and gray. Not bright and sunshiny like today. I flip the latch of my window, pushing it open. A warm gust of wind comes in, like the gentle caresses of thumbs drying my tears. I take a deep breath, letting the summer air fill my lungs. Then I leave my prison of a house.

My feet thump lightly when I hit the ground. I toss a glance at my house behind me. The stuff that happens within its walls doesn’t look like it would from the outside. Appearances are deceiving.

I start walking, my head low and my arms wrapped around myself. My ears burn as my eyes continue to leak. I sniffle. I’ve never just _left_ a grounding before. Aside from that time in fourth grade when I went through a vampire phase, I’ve never _ever_ left my house and not look back.

And I force myself to not look back. Looking back would make me think about that I’m going.

What _am_ I doing? I packed up all my stuff and jumped out of my window in the middle of a grounding. And now I’m walking down the street to the only person who’ll understand.

I’m leaving my home.

And I don’t plan on coming back.

My feet pick up speed, leading me down a sidewalk and past houses I’m so familiar with. Desperately, I knock on the front door, my fist shaking. My breath hiccups in my throat.

Roger opens the door, his eyes growing wide. He steps aside, and I hurry up the stairs to Eric’s room. Everything’s a wet blur when I throw open the door and I rush to Eric’s bedside, crawling into his open arms. He’s stiff with shock. My sobs fill the silence. He helps me out of my backpack, unraveling the fairy lights tangled on my arm.

When he speaks, his voice is light and joking. “You don’t even listen to Led Zeppelin.”

“Huh?” I pull back, staring at him quizzically.

He wipes away my tears as he says, “Your shirt.”

I glance down at it. It’s a black T-shirt with “Led Zeppelin” across the top and the logo for the Swan Song record label printed on it. I start laughing. It’s hysterical laughter, but it’s laughter nonetheless. I fit my face in Eric’s neck, sighing deep.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly. One hand is on the back of my neck, the other rubbing comforting circles on my back.

As I start to explain, he lowers us onto his bed. “My dad grounded me,” I spit bitterly. His eyes are full of sympathy. His thumb under my cheek moves hypnotically. “He—he wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to explain that I need all the time with you I can get. So when he grounded me, I—I wouldn’t allow myself to sit there and waste away. So I ran away. Out the window with as much clothes as I could fit into my backpack.” I squeeze my eyes shut, touching my forehead to his. His cheeks are warm beneath my fingertips. I whisper, “They don’t understand us and our situation ‘cause they don’t love each other like we do. They don’t understand the lingerin’ fear that in a couple months, you’ll move away.” Fresh tears gather under my eyelids. My voice is warbly when I say, “Only you can understand that kinda hurt.”

I break down crying again. And this time, I can’t stop. Eric holds me to his chest, whispering comforting things and stroking my face and hair and kissing me. And then his hands start shaking when they land on my cheeks. And his voice cracks. And suddenly he’s crying too.

Our sobs aren’t loud. If anything, they’re silent. Only our shoulders tremble, and there are quiet sniffles and even quieter hiccups of breath. And we hold each other through it all.

My chest aches. That’s all I can describe it as. A hollow, numbing ache that spreads through every vein in my body like ice.

Eric’s stronger than I am. He sucks it up, taking a deep breath in and wiping his face dry. He wipes my face too with the hem of his shirt. His eyes are red and puffy. When he opens his mouth, a shaky sigh leaves him. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers. “We’ll be okay.”

I whimper, and he pulls me in, tucking my head under his chin. “Ssh,” he says into the shell of my ear.

I memorize the way his body feels against mine, the way his hands feel on my back. Eric’s warm and soft. His hands are big but gentle, always on me. I memorize the way he melts perfectly into me, knowing there’s gonna be a time soon when I won’t be able to feel his heartbeat over mine.

“You ran away from home,” he says. His lips brush my neck when he talks.

I nod.

“You can stay with me. You can always stay with me. Your parents can’t hurt you here. Nothing can. Because I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”

His voice is like birdsong in my ear. It sends me to somewhere peaceful and cloudless. Where the grass is green and a river burbles nearby. The breeze is light. The air is warm. And the feel of golden sunlight is all around.

His voice is like fantasy.

Downstairs, there’s faint knocking on the front door. The knocking is angry, and it shoots through my daydreams like a dark arrow. I sit up, and Eric’s arms tighten around me. We stare at each other, our chests rising and falling with breathing trying to calm.

The voice speaking is muffled and angry. I don’t need to hear it clearly to know it’s my dad.

To Eric, I whisper, “He's realized I’m gone.”

Eric just swallows, throat bobbing.

There’s another voice that follows—male, Roger Donovan. He’s cut off. As Dad’s voice rises, it becomes clearer. “I know he’s here! Bring him out here!” he barks. “I’m going to make him regret leaving his room.”

I feel it when Eric holds his breath. It makes me realize I’m holding mine too.

I think Roger says something like, “If he was here, I think I would know, Stephen. I think I would know if a teenage boy were in my house.”

I remember the startled look on his face when he opened the door for me. He saw me, and he’s lying to my dad about it.

I hear the suspicion in Dad’s voice when says, “All right. Thank you, then. Sorry to bother you.”

Unable to help myself, I go to the window, watching as Dad gets back into the car hastily stopped crooked on the driveway. I watch as he backs up, and I watch as the car disappears down the road. Eric’s arm appears around my waist and he tugs me back into bed with him. We sit against the headboard. I still have my shoes on. Eric notices too, and he unlaces them for me and drops them to the floor. He sits back, putting my head on his shoulder. I feel sleepy when he resumes stroking my hair.

His door opens slowly. His dad comes in, with Clyde and Bebe looking worried behind him. “Hey,” Roger says.

“Hi,” Eric whispers. “Thanks. For what you did back there.”

Roger, Clyde and Bebe look to me, but I don’t look at them. I fix my gaze on Eric’s mismatched socks. Roger says, “You can stay here for as long as you need to. You don’t have to go back. Your dad… he explained that you’re grounded and that you left without permission. You don’t have to go back to that.”

I nod, my voice unwilling to work, even though I want more than anything to thank him. The door closes as slowly as it opened.

Eric’s lips press to my hairline. His hand keeps moving up and down through my hair. He’s warm. My eyes are heavy with exhaustion. At only eleven in the morning, I fall back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cleaning up today, found that old Zeppelin shirt  
> You wore when you ran away, and no one could feel your hurt..."  
> -Ghost of You


	14. Butters Stotch

**Summer.**

Eric’s heartbeat under my palm is pounding hard. Almost as hard as he is. I’m straddling his pelvis, devouring his lips with a need so strong I can’t control it. Only he can control it, with his touch and his hands and the slow thrust of his hips. I break the kiss to catch my breath. Eric chuckles. I push down on his chin with my thumbs, and his mouth opens. I kiss his tongue. He hums, his hands running up the backs of my thighs. I shiver, giggling. But I’m cut off when he jerks particularly hard, driving a moan from me.

His tongue parts my lips, moving past my teeth. He licks at my tongue, a slow and wet thing that makes me dig my nails into his shoulders as he laps up the noises spilling from my mouth. He’s breathing hot into me. His nose brushes mine. His tongue goes further, feeling up mine the way his hands feel up my body.

Then it’s over.

He kisses me closed-mouthed, his hips moving me up and down. I pull back, smacking his bare shoulder. His eyes fly open and he stops his rhythm. “Ow! What’d you hit me for?” he asks.

“Kiss me like that again,” I whine, breathing heavy.

He smirks, bringing his face up to mine. He kisses me the way I want. He flips us around, me rightfully under him again. He cradles the back of my neck as he kisses me there, still moving slow. He wanted me to sit on him. I’ve been on top as he rocks his hips into mine before, but that’s always started out with me laying down. I’ve never just sat on him. When he suggested it, it made my ears go red. But as I was lowering myself onto him, he was licking my neck, and it was good.

Usually I’m the one to leave a trail of hickeys leading down from his ear to his chest after nights like this, but I think it’s better when he does it. I think I do it to him as a way of telling him I want it done to me without actually admitting it out loud. Because that stuff’s embarrassing to admit.

His teeth bite and his tongue licks and his lips suck and it’s sweaty and hot and _so good._ I never want it to stop.

But all things come to an end eventually. Especially sex. My release makes my vision go white as I cry out and arch into him with my nails digging into his skin. Eric’s moans are music. I feel him let go inside me, and he collapses on me, breathing heavy. Our sweaty chests stick to each other.

“That’s the best sex I’ve ever had,” he says.

I groan, covering my face with my hands. He laughs, uncovering my face to kiss me. “It’s cute how you don’t like dirty talk after,” he says.

I make a funny sound, shifting my hips. “You haven’t pulled out yet.”

“I’ll get to that, don’t worry. Now c’mere and let me kiss you.”

I meet his demands, putting my lips to his. Sex is great and all, but my favorite thing is the cuddling after and the sweet wet kisses that follow. There’s something satisfying about the sounds of a loud smack of a kiss and contented sighs.

Eric pulls out slowly. I whimper at the feeling of his absence. He kisses me more. I push back his sweaty hair from his forehead.

It’s mid-July. I’ve been living with him and his family for a little more than a month. It’s nice to wake up to him every morning and not have to worry about leaving to go home to a house that’s never felt like home. There’s something about always being with him that feels right. Like it should’ve been this way all along.

The sweat on my back and on the backs of my knees would be miserable if not for the reason it got there in the first place. “I wanna go take a shower,” I say.

Eric grunts, pulling me closer to his chest. “You always want to shower after sex.”

“ ‘Cause I don’t like feelin’ sweaty and sticky and… slimy.”

He laughs. “But you’re not supposed to shower right away. Just lay with me here for a few more minutes. You’re supposed to let the air dry your sweat. But the cum in your ass is your problem.”

I groan again, and he laughs some more. He kisses my jaw. “What time is it?” he mumbles.

I glance at his clock. It says 3:29 p.m. “Almost three-thirty.”

He makes a noncommittal noise.

“Everyone’s gonna be home soon.”

Clyde went out with Bebe. Liane and Roger went shopping in Denver. They all left at noon.

Liane and Roger went shopping in Denver for stuff Eric might need in his dorm in Pennsylvania. They asked if we’d like to come along, since it’s Eric’s dorm they’re shopping for, but I think the whole thing became too real, and I think they saw that in us, so they let us stay.

Eric and I are laying on his bed watching Netflix. Water drips from my hair. I finally got my shower, but not before Eric teasing if he can join. I give my head a shake, sending droplets flying everywhere. He snorts, holding up a hand in front of his face to keep water from it. When I’ve settled down, he takes my wrists and kisses me rough.

My phone starts ringing, still the same ringtone of “Bitch Lasagna.” Eric says it’s too fire to change. I pick up my phone, seeing Kenny’s name on my screen before I answer it. “Hiya, Ken!” I say.

“Hey, Leo. It would’ve been better to text, but none of my texts are reaching anybody, so… Anyway, I found an apartment we could all live in while we’re going to Boulder. The walk is only, like, five minutes away from the school, give or take some. There are four bedrooms, two bathrooms. I would slide you a pic, but my shit’s not working. Rent’s four thousand a year, but between us four, I think we’d be fine.”

“Wow! That’s pretty good, I think,” I say. “We’d all have to get a job though. I know you’ve got City Wok and Tweek Bros, and Stan’s got his internship at the vet. Me and Kyle’d have to find something.” Eric puts his head on my stomach and continues watching the movie.

Me mentioning Stan reminds me of how he told us he broke up with Wendy a few weeks ago. Eric subtly praised him like he’d just won the lottery. And even though Kyle scolded Eric for it, I saw the smug smile he was trying to hide at the news.

“Yeah, true. But it gets better. Uh, Henri’s cousin is the landlady, actually, and since Henrietta’s her cousin, and Henri knows us, she cut us a deal. Monthly, we only have to pay three thousand two hundred,” he says.

I run my fingers through Eric’s hair. “So each of us have to pay eight hundred dollars a month versus a thousand,” I say.

“Yeah. How’d you do that so fast?”

“He’s just good at math,” Eric says, directing his voice to Kenny.

“True,” Kenny says. “So hey… is it true that you’re living with Cartman? I heard some things from him and Clyde, and I’ve been meaning to ask but then I got busy.”

I smile to myself, glancing down at Eric. “It’s true. And it’s been great! I love it here,” I say. A thought passes by: it won’t be like this for long. Because in a few months, I won’t see Eric for four years.

But it’s scattered like sand when Kenny says, “Damn, sounds awesome. Anyway, I gotta go finalize some shit with Henri. See you—”

“Wait!” I exclaim.

“Yeah?”

“A-about you and Henrietta, is everything all right between you? I—I know you broke up and all, but…” I trail off, remembering how Kenny kissed me at Bebe’s party. Sometimes, when I’m completely alone and the night is so dead it’s silent, I think about that kiss. I think about his lips and the way they felt on mine, and I think about that strange sensation it brought along. Nobody except me knows about that kiss. Not even Kenny.

He answers, “Yeah, everything’s fine. We’re broken up and all, but we still hang out. So there’s no bad blood between us, you know?”

“Yeah. Makes sense. I’ll leave you to it. Bye, Kenny,” I say.

“Bye, Leo.”

The line goes dead.

Eric and I watch the movie in silence. Three minutes later, he asks, “May I have permission to put my hands down your pants?”

I sputter, heat rushing up to my cheeks. He tilts his head up at me with a shit-eating grin. His fingertips hover above the waistband of my pants. “Why?” I manage to squeak. “I—I mean, of course you may, always, but—why?”

He shrugs. “I’m turned on.”

“How?”

“Because you exist.”

My mouth forms an O, my face red. He refocuses on his laptop, his fingers sliding beneath my waistband. He doesn’t go under the waistband of my boxers, but just the feeling of his fingers there makes the pit of my stomach burn.

“Oh, and also because it’s revenge for when you ‘accidentally’ put your butt on my dick when we’re cuddling,” he adds.

“It _is_ on accident!” I exclaim, knowing full well it’s not.

“Yeah, and my hand’s _accidentally_ down your pants right now,” he says.

I laugh, shifting around so that he’s spooning me. I press my butt against his hips, my back flush against him. He grunts, his hand traveling further down my pants. “You’re really trying to get fucked all over again, huh?” he murmurs, biting my ear.

I hum, feeling warmth spread around me like a blanket.

When our movie ends, Eric suggests, “How about we go down to the U-Stor-It. For old time’s sake? We can even take our bikes. Get Tweek Bros and sit on the roof and talk.”

The very mention of the U-Stor-It brings a flood of nostalgia. We haven’t been in a while. It used to be our hideout where we’d go when our relationship was still secret. But ever since we told people, we found no need to go back. We went back a few times after we told, but the days faded away from the U-Stor-It until it became a piece of the past.

“I’d love to,” I say.

We find ourselves on our old bikes that haven’t been used since we learned how to drive. The bodies are rusted, and the spokes creak when the wheels turn. It’s lucky that my bike was even left in the side yard in the first place. The last time we used our bikes, Eric had just started getting practice from Roger. We biked over to the U-Stor-It not knowing it’d be our last time. Eric drove me home, and it wasn’t until I was just dropping off into sleep that night did I remember I left my bike at his house. And I forgot it’d been there since.

It woulda been a disaster if I’d had to go back home to get it.

We stop by Tweek Bros first. Tweek’s working, and as Eric and I approach the counter, it hits me at a full force that Tweek and Craig are leaving for California at the end of the month. The end of the month is in twelve days. Suddenly my feet are picking up speed as I get closer to the counter.

Tweek gives us an impish grin. “Hey, guys. What can I—” He stops short when I lean across the counter to squeeze him in a hug. Hesitantly, he hugs back. “Uh, you okay, man?” he asks.

“Have fun in California, all right? You’ll do great,” I say pulling back.

Tweek blinks, a small smile growing on his face. “Thanks. And you too.” He meets eyes with Eric, who just shrugs. Tweek’s eyes slide back to me. “So, what can I get you? The U-Stor-It Usual?”

I chuckle. Tweek and Craig adopted the name when they caught on that Eric and I would stop by before or after hanging out at the U-Stor-It. Before going to the U-Stor-It, the order is to go. After the U-Stor-It, it’s to stay. Tweek or Craig always seemed to know which was which when we used to come by. Eric and I trade a look. He gives me a slight raise of his eyebrow. “Yeah,” I say.

Tweek nods, punching stuff into the screen in front of him. “Same price as usual.”

There became a time near the end of sophomore year when Eric and I started paying for each other. We’d take turns. Today, Eric pays for the both of us.

Walking out of the Tweek Bros with a final goodbye wave to Tweek and Craig, who came from the backroom, another wave of nostalgia hits. The sun ahead is dipping beneath the mountains like it used to back in the days. It douses us in pink and orange. Eric and I pick up our bikes discarded on the ground. We got real good at balancing a cup in one hand and steering our bikes with the other. We’re still pros at it.

Coming into the U-Stor-It is like coming back to a playground you used to play at as a kid after fifteen years of lost time. I can see ghosts of memories where Eric and I'd rode around the units, shouting to each other. I can see the ghosts of ourselves climbing dumpsters pushed up against the walls and laying on our bellies on the roof, making funny noises anytime a person'd walk past.

“We were such dummies back then,” I say, my voice a whisper of the wind.

Eric leans his bike on the side of Professor Chaos’s unit. He sips from the straw of his tea. “We were. Still are,” he adds with a smirk.

Sitting up on the roof is serene, our heads tilted back at the sky, watching the blend and swirl of color. Eric’s fingers slide between the spaces of mine. Our drinks begin to perspire after some time. The U-Stor-It Usual I get in the summer is different from the colder seasons. For summertime, I like something with ice, something that’ll bead up on the outside of the cup after too long.

The sunlight’s almost gone when Eric presses his lips to the side of my face. “I love you,” he says. He looks away from me, briefly, to say even quieter, “I’ll miss this.”

I take his hand, placing it on my cheek. He looks at me again. I open my mouth to say, _I will too,_ but it dies on my lips. Instead, I try for an uplifting smile. “Don’t dwell on that,” I murmur. “All that matters is right now.”

Eric’s mouth splits into the happiest, genuinest smile I’ve seen since I came running to him crying and him declaring I would live with him. I’ve seen Eric’s genuine smile a whole heck of a lot more since I officially unofficially moved in with him, but there was always hesitance behind it. Always the haunting thought that these moments won’t last being held back by the upward tilt of his lips.

But this, this smile’s the purest. It’s untouched by any sorta melancholy and heartache. And it makes me laugh, cupping his cheeks and kissing him, only to break it to laugh some more.

Holding me against him, he laughs too, and we laugh until tears gather. But these tears aren’t like the others. These tears are dripping diamonds. These tears are glittery sparkly things that slide down our cheeks. These are tears that capture the last glimmer of sunlight in little droplets that pool in our palms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Moment, I don't wanna waste this moment  
> Lose myself when I'm inside of you  
> I might wife you, I might make that move  
> When we laying here  
> Tight up in these sheets  
> Look me in my eyes  
> Say it's everything you need..."  
> -BRB


	15. Butters Stotch

**Autumn.**

Fate and luck are strange, sympathetic things. Eric’s first day’s on the fourteenth of September. It’s a Tuesday, and more importantly, it’s three days after my birthday. Usually, courses start earlier in the month, but not this year, I suppose. Eric said it’s like that ‘cause God’s on our side for once. I told him He’s always been on our side. Then Eric made the sign of the cross.

The thing is, Eric’s gonna have to leave two days after my birthday, on Sunday. There’s something devastating about that, even if his flight’s not gonna be till five. That’s the time he wants to leave at earliest. Pennsylvania’s two hours ahead of us, and the flight from Denver to Philadelphia’s a bit over three hours. So by the time Eric arrives in Philadelphia, it’ll be ten at night there if he were to leave at five.

Just the thought makes me sick to my stomach with the reality of it all.

But today’s only September sixth. It’s our five years. Five years is a long time, and even now it’s hard to grasp that we’ve been together this long. But compared to Tweek and Craig, who’ve been together for almost nine years, it sounds like nothing.

Eric wants to do something big for this anniversary.

“Five years is a big deal,” he says as we sit under his window, basking in a patch of sunlight. I feel the unsaid words hanging in the air: _Five years is halfway to ten._ But neither of us mention that. We wouldn’t wanna jinx it.

I nudge my bare foot against his. We’re both in sweatpants and hoodies. I’m wearing his Supreme hoodie because he lets me on real special days. I have the collar pulled up over my nose. Every time I breathe in, I smell him.

“I know,” I respond, playing with his hands. “But I don’t want it to be somethin’ crazy.”

Eric buries his face in the back of my neck. His lips brush my skin when he says, “But it’s gotta be.”

“But why?” As soon as I ask it, I regret it.

There’s silence.

Ignoring my question, Eric squeezes my fingers. “We should go to Super Phun Thyme.”

It’s another place with memories. Memories that date back to fourth grade, to sophomore year. “That’s perfect,” I say.

There’s something special about walking into Super Phun Thyme after leaving the car in the parking lot. There’s something special about the sound of kids laughing and the smell of cotton candy in the air. I hug Eric’s arm to my chest as we pay the entrance fee.

We start with the arcade games. I feel like I’m floating, even as I sit here beside Eric playing _Crossy Road._ It’s like stepping back into the past. My mind doesn’t feel like it’s present. My mind is also floating. The arcade’s improved since the last time we were here, three years ago. The games are no longer the simple joystick and button. There are games with touch screens, games based off of mobile apps, like this _Crossy Road_ one. There’s even a _Mario Kart._

Eric’s not good at _Crossy Road._ I can see the car coming to hit his fish before it even happens. When it does, Eric swears loud enough to make the kids playing the game next to ours to glance over. I shoot them an apologetic smile.

I concentrate on the screen, timing my jumps. “Eric, you really needa watch your mouth,” I scold. “There’re children around for God’s sake!”

Eric rolls his eyes, snaking an arm around my waist. “Try to beat the high score,” he says.

I yelp when I barely catch a drifting log. “What’s the high score?”

“Two thousand, eight hundred.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Yes you can. I believe in you, B-Butts.” He kisses my ear.

As soon as he says it, the train comes outta nowhere and flattens my cow like a pancake. I glare at Eric playfully. “You jinxed it,” I whine.

He smirks, rolling his eyes again. “Look at your high score.” He points to the screen.

In pixelated numbers, my score of one thousand, nine hundred and three is on display. “Shit!” I exclaim, immediately slapping a hand over my mouth. I glance at the game to my right, glad the kids are gone.

Eric laughs at my outburst. “You have the second highest score. Too bad it doesn’t matter,” he sings in my ear, getting up and starting to walk off.

I stomp after him, smacking his arm. “That’s not nice!” I say.

“ _I’m_ not nice,” he corrects. He continues to grin at my poor excuse for a scowl. He puts his hand under my chin, kissing my forehead. “Let’s find another game, okay?”

We play air hockey for an hour straight, spending most of our tokens and infuriating a group of three twelve-year-old boys who’ve been waiting to play. It’s hard to feel bad for them when they insult me or Eric if we miss. After I win the last round, Eric spins on the three boys. I’m afraid he’s gonna snap at them and start a fight, but he flashes them a pointed smile instead. He tosses them the rest of our tokens. The tallest one catches it. “Have fun,” he drawls.

Eric walks back to me, taking my arm and leading me away. I sneak a look at the boys. Instead of taking the vacant air hockey table, they walk off together, stealing wide-eyed glances over their shoulders at us. I bite my lip, holding back a smile.

“Eric,” I say, “I think you scared those boys.”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “Oops,” he says sarcastically.

I shake my head at him.

It feels funny to drive around in the bumper cars with a bunch of little kids ramming into my car. Eric doesn’t seem to care, hitting everyone who gets in his way. The little kids all swarm around him to retaliate for the shots he takes at them. There’s something about the way he grins and shouts to each little kid that touches my heart.

The music above fades right as someone hits me from behind, making me jolt. The cars slow to a complete stop. All the kids in the rink groan, “Aww.”

I step out of my car, meeting Eric at the exit. As we leave, a little girl with her two front teeth missing smiles and waves at us. Eric smiles almost sheepishly and waves back.

Eric avoids my amused gaze as we walk to mini golf. I rub my thumb over the back of his hand. “Eric,” I whisper, tilting my head to his shoulder. He keeps his eyes fixated ahead. I grin.

We’re handed clubs and golf balls by the employee working. We step up to the first hole, Eric still not speaking. He puts his ball on the tee. He poises his club, about to swing, but I grab hold of his arm. He’s blushing when he meets my eye.

“What?” he croaks.

I brush the back of my hand over his burning cheek, kissing him there. “Nothing,” I murmur.

Unlike the time we were here in sophomore year, Eric wins at mini golf. He smiles to himself in modest victory. Modest Eric is a cute Eric, if not rare. He likes bragging and showing off, and it’s one of my favorite things about him. I especially like it when I’m the one being bragged about and shown off.

The skating rink is always dark, but it’s always illuminated by neon lights and loud pop music. Eric hasn’t improved at all since the last time we were here. I cover my mouth with my hand as I laugh. Eric glides along the floor, but that’s all he can do. He can’t spin or do anything else like me.

He snaps at me, “Quit laughing, douchebag.”

It only makes me laugh harder. I reach out my hands to him, and he gladly takes them. I pull him to me, and he rolls over, our chests bumping. He kisses the tip of my nose. I don’t let go of his hand as we skate around the rink. Progressively, his hand travels from my hand to my hip, waist, then my shoulders, where it stays.

When my legs start to ache from constantly skating, we go to the diner up on the top floor with the arcade games. We get a chocolate milkshake to share. I sit next to Eric in our booth, the bench in front of us vacant. My head’s on his shoulder, my legs pulled up on the seat.

“Wanna do laser tag after this?” he asks. His hand moves up and down my arm, making me long for his bed.

“I guess. Then can we go home? I’m tired.”

Eric snorts. “It’s barely four.”

“I wanna nap,” I whine.

“Okay, fine. We’ll go home and nap _after_ laser tag.”

“Promise?”

Eric links his pinkie around mine. “Pinkie promise.” He kisses the top of my head.

Eric and I are on the same team for laser tag for once. The entire room’s dark, lit up by fluorescent black lights in the ceiling making the colored patterns on the carpeted floor glow. As we wait for the starting sound, Eric chuckles, brushing my hair from my face with his free hand. “Your hair is glowing,” he says.

“So’s your teeth,” I reply.

He runs his tongue over his straight teeth glowing blue in response.

The starting sound echoes throughout the room. Eric and I lock eyes. A few fourteen-year-olds on our team charge forward recklessly. I can already hear the faint zap of the laser guns going off.

Eric and I cling to the walls, using the darkness to our advantage. Eric takes laser tag very seriously. He drops to a crouch, bringing me down with him. He puts a finger to his lips. He points to the right. I hear the shuffle of footsteps. I give him a slight nod, and we shuffle closer.

The flash of movement indicates a person. My breath catches. There’s more than one. Six of them, all in blue gear. Only ten people are allowed on each of the teams. Four of them are elsewhere. I strain to hear the zaps of commotion further off. The six whisper to each other, swinging around with their guns aimed.

Eric’s the first to make a shot. I hear his gun go off, shooting down the one at the front of the group. He looks shocked at first, staring down in surprise at his red center. Then he crumples to his knees, faking a wound.

“Find them,” he says weakly to his teammates.

Then they spread out.

In the dark circling around walls, Eric and I manage to shoot down two more. Now there are only three left. The battleground’s a lot more even now.

Eric puts his lips to my ear, whispering, “We surprise them, jump up and start firing, got it?”

I nod, my finger sliding over the trigger. Who knew laser tag could be so intense? Eric meets my eye, and at the same time, we shoot to our feet, pressing the triggers of our guns.

Eric and I move around so we aren’t easy targets. The three shoot back after a pause of shock. One goes down by my laser.

But then I hear the sound of a beep. I look down, my center red. I’ve been shot. Dramatically, I fall to my knees, slumping over. Eric’s eyes flash. He turns back to the two, scowling.

“I’ll avenge you, B-Butts!” he growls, and he releases all hellfire onto the two blues standing.

I have to bite back a laugh at the over-dramatization of it all.

Eric shoots the two right in their centers, flickering red. One shakes a fist as he goes down, howling, “Nooo!”

As soon as his knees hit the floor, the lights go on. A voice from hidden speakers announces, “Red team wins! Return to your posts to exit. Red team, you will receive your awards there.”

The six blues groan in defeat.

Eric walks over to me, dropping his gun. Or rather it hangs at his hip since it’s connected to his center. He sits next to me, pretending to cry as he cradles my face. I can’t even play dead as he strokes my jaw. “Oh, B-Butts. I’m sorry this had to happen to you. It’s my fault,” he sobs.

The six blues stop to watch.

I grin as he continues, “I should’ve known this would happen. I should’ve known I could’ve lost you. And now I have!” He puts his forehead on mine, still pretending to cry. “Oh, what have I done?” he moans.

One of the blues has his phone out, recording.

“I love you,” Eric whispers. He presses his lips to mine, and suddenly I can’t control the laughter bubbling up from my throat.

Eric pulls back, grinning himself. He kisses my teeth, getting to his feet and offering his hand to help me up. We put our guns in the holsters on the backs of our centers.

The first blue Eric shot down says, “Are you two dating?”

Eric and I trade a look. He shrugs. “Yeah.”

The blue who was recording nods. “Cool. Anyway, congrats.” He extends a hand.

Eric and I end up shaking hands with all six blues, telling them good game. Then we turn opposite ways.

The prize for each individual on the team’s a thousand tickets you can trade in for a prize of your choice. Since Eric scored the winning shot, he’s given the tickets and a coupon for a free burger and fries at the diner. The meal includes a drink of choice.

He looks at me as we walk away towards the ticket store up with the arcade. “It’s a good thing we just got a milkshake, huh?” he says.

I laugh, nodding.

In the store, we feed our tickets to the counting machine. We have two thousand, nine hundred and seven tickets in total. We get five pieces of candy each, sunglasses we’ll never wear, and a stuffed spaceman. The spaceman’s the most expensive stuffed toy out of them all, two thousand tickets. Eric hands it to me, his cheeks red. I smile at him, rising to my tiptoes to kiss his mouth. Then he locks eyes with me and smiles back.

As Eric walks us back to the diner with his hand in mine, I run my thumb over the soft body of the spaceman. His suit’s white, the Super Phun Thyme logo on his torso. He has no face, the visor black. I kiss the visor, staring lovingly at the back of Eric’s head as I hug the spaceman to my chest.

I hate how he’s going away in eight days.

Eric orders us a burger to share and a milkshake to go. We sit across from each other this time, stealing fries back and forth. We each takes bites from the burger.

The sky’s fading when we get back in the car. I turn up the radio so I don’t fall asleep on the drive home. Back at home, we go up to his room. Eric puts the almost-empty milkshake on his desk.

When he turns back to me, I lift up my arms. “What?” he says.

“Nap,” I whine, the spaceman hanging from my hand.

Eric lifts my shirt over my head. “God, you’re such a baby,” he complains.

“ _Your_ baby,” I correct with the hint of a grin.

All at once, he groans, smiles, and rolls his eyes. By my waist he pulls me into bed with him. I kick my jeans off under the covers, comfortable in nothing but my boxers. Eric strips down too, pulling me to him. I tuck my face into the crook of his neck, sighing contentedly. He smells so good always. I love it when he wears his cologne on special occasions like today.

“What are you gonna name him?” Eric asks, his voice already a tired murmur.

“Who?” I whisper back.

He points to the spaceman between us. I stroke its fuzzy head. “Hmm. I dunno. What do you think?” I speak into his throat.

I feel the vibrations of his voice on my lips. “No, you choose it.”

“How bout Saturn?”

“Wack.”

“It’s not.”

Eric pulls back enough so I can see his face. He smiles softly. His hand ghosts over my cheek. He kisses the scar on my left eye. “I love you,” he mumbles.

I snuggle against him, my legs tangled with his, my face on his neck. “Love you too.” I yawn big.

Eric brings the blankets further up over our shoulders. He kisses my forehead, and his lips stay there, even as we sink into sleep with the milkshake melting to slush on his desk.

 

Eric’s hoodies smell like him. It doesn’t matter which one it is. All of them smell like he does because he wears them all. Especially during hoodie season which lasts till summer, according to him. He lets me wear his hoodies. Any one I want, except for his Supreme hoodie. I have to ask if I can wear that one. Eric’s closet used to be full of hoodies of every color—solid, tie dye, ombre. Now his closet’s empty. Boxes with his name written in Sharpie hold all them now. I watch him seal up that box. The sound of stretching tape’s invasive in my ears. It makes me flinch, my eyes fluttering shut with my shoulders up to my ears.

Eric stands with a sigh, ruffling his hair. It’s real wavy, especially at the ends. He got a haircut yesterday. The front’s shorter than it was before, the sides shaved. He looks all neat and spiffy. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The sleeves of his black Santa Cruz hoodie’s rolled up to his elbows, crumpling the pink and blue words printed on it. He’s never even been to Santa Cruz. He looks around the room, at the boxes on the floor, some closed some still open. While he’s taking two suitcases on the flight, he’s got to mail the rest of his clothes to his dorm. Hand still in his hair, Eric looks at me. His arm falls to his side. He walks over, wrapping me in his embrace. He kisses my neck, behind my ear, my jaw, the corner of my mouth.

My eyes are probably red and puffy, but not wet. I probably look like a toddler in the middle of a tantrum. My bottom lip sticks out in a pout. Eric’s Teddy Fresh hoodie pools around me, hanging limp over my fingertips, the hood over my head. Saturn’s hugged tightly to my chest, smelling like Eric’s cologne.

Eric’s fingers rest under my chin, tilting my face up to his. “Hey,” he says softly. “This is no way to be spending your nineteenth birthday.” His thumb strokes my cheek.

I shake my head childishly, too upset to speak big boy words.

His hand moves up and down my back. “Ssh,” he says. “No crying is allowed on your birthday. No more crying.”

Today’s his second to last day until his flight to Philadelphia. The tears that roll down my face at night are a countdown. And I dread his last day.

My response is a pathetic whimper.

His lips are on my hairline. “We should do something fun. Before I give you your gift tonight.”

“I don’t wanna,” I whine. I sniffle loudly. “I just wanna be with you.”

At the start of August, Tweek and Craig bid their farewells in the same airport Eric’ll be leaving in. They were smiling, already in shirts and shorts, ready and eager for LA weather. School for them doesn’t start till the almost-end of September like it does for me and the rest of us going to Boulder. But they wanted to be in LA a month early to settle down while still having time to go to Disneyland and Universal Studios. Tweek’s parents flew down with them to help them get situated for the first two weeks of the month. Craig’s sister Tricia was holding back tears when she squeezed him and Tweek around the middle before they boarded their plane. Ike had to pry her off them when an announcement was made over the PA that it was the final chance to board before the flight took off.

At least they have each other when they start at UCLA.

“You _will_ be with me. Always.” Eric’s hands move to cradle my cheeks. His lips are soft on mine. The sound that comes from my throat’s a sad mewl. “C’mon, B-Butts,” he whispers in my ear. “Let’s go.”

I cling to his neck when he picks me up bridal style. Saturn falls to his bed, face down. I squeeze my eyes shut against his throat. I can feel his pulse on the bridge of my nose, steady and faint.

Clyde and Bebe started at Denver last Monday. Since Token could afford it, him, Clyde, Kevin and Jimmy are staying in an apartment together. Bebe’s staying with all the other girls except Wendy. She’s attending Colorado College. Eric said it was proof that God doesn’t want her and Stan together, considering Boulder’s an hour and a half drive from Colorado Springs. I said it didn’t prove nothing. And when he asked why, I told him because if it were true, then God wouldn’t want us together since we’re gonna be further than an hour and a half drive apart. That shut him up real quick, leaving him to hold me in silence as I sobbed into his chest.

Eric sets me down on the couch, hugging me to his chest like he does when I cry. I say, “I miss Clyde and Bebe.”

He nods. “Me too. But I’m serious, B-Butts. We should do something.”

“But I don’t wanna do nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

I sit up, staring Eric in the face. He would hate to hear it, but during the summer, his hair gets kinda coppery. Little strands of red become more apparent. But he wants nothing to do with that.

I move to brush his hair from his forehead, but he catches my hand, kissing my palm. “You don’t even wanna build a fort?” he asks, almost sadly.

That breaks me. I slump into him. “A fort’s good,” I agree.

We build a fort right there in the living room. Once it’s up, we crawl inside with flashlights in our hands. We sit across from each other, staring into each other’s eyes. Eric scoots over to me. My breath catches when his face gets closer. The way he hovers centimeters from my lips reminds me of that hesitance he would have when we first started dating. Maybe he’s just hovering for that sensation of reminiscence.

His lips meet mine. Sweetness and warmth blooms under my skin. Sometimes I wonder if the caress of his tongue against mine can give me a cavity. It sure seems like it. The kiss lasts three seconds. When he pulls back, we’re both already breathing heavy. I land in his lap, my arms twisting around his neck. His head tilts. My mouth drops open, salivating for his taste. He kisses me roughly.

I don’t need fancy stuff to have a good birthday. All I need is Eric. I don’t think he really understands that ‘cause he’s got expectations that have to be met for a good birthday. But coming from a family where my birthdays were barely acknowledged, I don’t need extravagances.

He puts his hand on my upper thigh as he lays me down. It makes me whimper. It’s a different kinda whimper. Not like the ones I was making earlier. This whimper is needy and desperate. The pattern of his breathing changes when I start pawing at his hoodie.

His eyelids are hooded over his mismatched irises. I take off his glasses. He takes off his hoodie, then mine, sliding his hands up my shirt. His hands are warm.

It’s like magic—the way my legs separate for him. His hands leave my stomach, sliding up the fabric of my sweatpants. He kisses me breathless, wrapping me up in him.

After, we lay together, kissing each other gingerly. Just in case his parents were to come home unexpectedly, we put on our boxers. While we were at it, the fort started coming down, and neither of us wanted to stop to pitch it back up. So when we both collapsed in spent exhaustion, the fort collapsed around us.

I say into Eric’s bare shoulder, “Was that my birthday gift? ‘Cause if it was, it was one of the best.”

He chuckles, rolling us onto our sides. He kisses my temple. “That was only half of it,” he murmurs.

“Then what’s the other half?” I ask.

He rubs up my sides. I can feel his smirk on my skin. “At dinner. You’ll see.”

Dinnertime finally comes around. Our group of eight takes up the biggest booth at Bennigan’s. The gifts my friends give me sit on the outside of the booth. Our waiter has to step around them when he delivers our food.

When we’re finished eating, the cake comes, presented by a group of waiters and waitresses. They sing a different version of “Happy Birthday.” The cake is vanilla with strawberry filling. I was there with Eric when we picked it out. Eric’s lips brush the side of my face as he sings with the rest of the table. I beam down at the cake and the iced words “Happy birthday, Butters” illuminated by the flickering candlelight.

The final note is sung, and I lean over and blow out the candles. And though my wish won’t come true, I wish for Eric to stay. It seems the whole restaurant cheers and claps for me. Eric hands me the knife, and I start doling out slices.

Each of us have at least two slices. The cake’s all gone by the time we’re done. Eric licks a bit of frosting from the corner of my mouth, making me giggle. Making me want him to lick my neck too. To leave more hickeys than I already have. I skim my thumb over the purple spot under his ear. He glances at me from the corner of his eye, smirking.

Despite the table being crowded, it feels empty missing Tweek and Craig. It was upsetting to hear they wouldn’t be staying for Tweek’s birthday in August, or mine a month later.

“Leo, you should open your gifts,” Kenny says with a wink.

Eric leans over the side of the booth, handing me the first bag. It’s from Kenny, and it’s a tube of Pringles. I laugh, because it ain’t fancy, but like I said, I don’t do fancy. “I love it,” I tell Kenny.

Eric says, “And I’ll be the one eating it, so yes, thank you, Kenny.”

Kenny bursts into howling laughter.

All the other gifts I get from my friends are nice and thoughtful. Half of the stuff are things I can use when school starts. The others are silly things that make me laugh.

After opening Tweek and Craig’s gift they sent over (Minnie Mouse ears with a big red polka dot bow), I almost expect Eric to give me his gift, but he doesn’t. Instead we leave with goodbyes to our friends, and I’m wondering about it.

I’m waiting in the car, watching Eric and Clyde linger on the sidewalk, talking. Eric nods, half-smiles, and gestures to the car. Clyde grins, and then he’s pulling Eric into a hug. Eric reciprocates reluctantly. Eric opens the driver’s door, getting in. He says to Clyde, “See you soon, you fucking dumbass.”

Clyde gives him a brotherly middle finger, if a middle finger could be described that way.

Eric snorts. I put my hand on his arm. He looks at me. He kisses my nose.

We drive back home with the radio humming in the background. At a red light, I stare out the window. Outside, the leaves on the trees are turning orange like the sky, signifying the transition of summer to fall. I watch as a leaf flutters from a tree to the sidewalk. I love fall. There’s something soothing about the cool air and burnt hues. But maybe I’m biased as an autumn baby.

When Eric parks in the driveway, he doesn’t open the door when he turns off the car. Unclicking his seat belt, he leans over to the backseat, bringing out a gift bag. He sets it in my lap. When I stare at him in confusion, he says, “I didn’t want you to open it in front of everyone.”

I kiss his cheek, undoing my seat belt. I pull off the blue tissue paper, taking out a book. It’s a photo album, I realize, when Eric turns on the light overhead. The cover’s white, and in the center’s a window. In that window’s a picture of hands forming a heart around the setting sun. It hits me that the hands are mine and Eric’s. We took this picture on his birthday back in July.

I gaze at him. He blushes, urging me on with a flick of his fingers. I open the cover. The first page is a series of pictures of Eric and me when we were thirteen, at the very start of our relationship. There’s the fort, and the U-Stor-It, and me grinning from ear to ear on my bike.

As I slowly page through, I realize it’s a collection of all the little moments of our relationship compiled and kept in one book. From the start to where we are now. There are pictures of the sky or cityline, or my drawing of a landscape. There are pictures of Eric grinning or scowling at the TV as he plays his video games. There are pictures of me. A lot of pictures of me, all taken by Eric. But my favorite pictures are the ones of Eric. I’m usually the photographer of those. But that’s not the reason why I love them.

The last page before it fades to two empty pages holds a single picture of us, my head on Eric’s bare shoulder. I’m smiling up into the underside of his jaw. Eric’s face is in the photo too, his hair messy like mine. Saturn is pressed between our chests. My neck’s red. His smiling lips are pouty, swollen from too much kissing, if that’s even a thing. His brown eye’s squeezed shut, revealing the violet-blue of his right. His eye’s a hypnotic mix of both in this photo.

I realize the picture’s from only yesterday morning.

I look at him, my vision swimming with tears. “Eric,” I whisper.

He shifts in his seat. “I thought that… when I go away, you should have something to look back on if you miss me. So I made that,” he explains.

I close the album, leaning across the center console to kiss him. “Of course I’ll miss you. I already miss you. And I love it,” I murmur. “Thank you.”

“I already miss you too.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “And the last few pages are blank so we can fill them up before…”

I don’t let him finish. I sit in his lap, kissing him hard. “It’s perfect,” I say. “You’re—you’re perfect. And—”

He cuts me off with a kiss of his own.

Up in his room, I use his arm as a pillow as we flip through the photo album together. All the lights in the room are off, except for his lamp on the bedside table. Eric holds the album up for us. I watch as he slips in the most recent pictures he took today and at Bennigan’s. For his birthday this year, I got him one of those portable printers that spits out photos with the help of the app.

“I’m glad that printer’s of use to you,” I say.

He smiles down at me, kissing the crown of my head. “Of course it is.” He turns back to the album. “Here, check this out.” He turns back to senior year, taking our prom picture from its sleeve. I’m beaming at the camera as Eric holds me in that cliche prom pose. He was annoyed to have to pose like that, but his smile says he’s happy nonetheless. He sets the album on his stomach. He turns the picture over to its white backside. “On every picture, I put the date of when it was taken. Or if I didn’t know the exact date, the month it was taken.”

I point to _Prom, and this stupidass pose_ written in his handwriting. “Do all of ‘em have a caption like this?” I ask.

“Yeah. At least, most of them do.”

I giggle, nuzzling into him. “I really do love it,” I whisper. Under my breath, I mumble, “I love you.”

Eric puts the picture back, closing the album and setting it on the nightstand. He turns out the light. His hand’s cradling the back of my head. He kisses me between my eyes. “Love you,” he whispers.

I put my lips to his, holding us there as the nightly tears gather under my eyelids. When my lips begin to tremble, Eric strokes my hair. Like the nights before, he squeezes me when I cry, his arms secure around me until I fall asleep with tears drying on my cheeks.

I don’t wanna cry tonight though. Eric said no crying on my birthday. And I won’t. I refuse to have this day be ruined by time that won’t last. I refuse to waste the trickling minutes mourning over something that ain’t even over yet.

I kiss Eric. And he kisses back. Instead of crying myself to sleep and being cradled like a child, I’m kissed to sleep, feeling as reposeful as that leaf drifting down to the sidewalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place..."  
> -All Too Well


	16. Butters Stotch

**Autumn.**

Eric grabbing my ass in public’s the least of my worries. In fact, it’s more a comfort than anything.

We’re at a Häagen-Dazs forty minutes from the Denver Airport. I stand next to Eric in front of the cash register as the worker slides his card through. She holds out our ice cream and Eric’s card. Eric squeezes me before his hands leave me to take his cone and my cup. He thanks her, giving me my ice cream and a spoon. We go to sit at a plush bench in front of the store. Eric presses up real close to me, his thigh warm against mine. We eat our ice cream in silence. It’s a stifling silence that holds anxiety and sadness, like a thick gray cloud ready to cry rain.

Eric’s halfway done with his cone, and my ice cream sits in my cup, slowly melting away. I’m not hungry. I haven’t been hungry since Saturday night. But Eric forced me to eat breakfast and lunch because he said he didn’t want me to starve, even if I didn’t feel hungry in the slightest.

Eric notices me moping into my ice cream. He tilts my chin up to his face, coming close. He kisses my mouth open, pushing his tongue onto mine. The kiss tastes like caramel and cookie dough, our ice cream flavors. I never want it to end. He pulls away slow, like he doesn’t really want it to end either, but it has to.

Kinda like our situation right now.

His arm's around me as we sit, but I want him to grab me and squeeze me possessively like he did when his hand was on my ass. On a normal day, back six months ago, I wouldn’t dare let him hold onto me like that with people around. But today’s a special circumstance. Why? Because today’s the day he’s finally getting on a plane and flying to Philadelphia, where he’ll live for four years in a dorm with presumably a stranger. Where he’ll meet new people, make new friends. Where he might forget me.

He assures me he’ll never be able to forget me ever.

I hope it’s true.

Eric has it all planned out. Every break he has, he’s gonna fly back home and spend it with me. He has a fall break during the start of October. Boulder doesn’t have that, so when that time comes around, he’ll be staying in our apartment, ready with open arms to greet me when I come home. Then there’s Thanksgiving break, and holiday break, MLK day, spring break, and finally summer. And every day we call each other in the morning, at lunch, and before bed. We'll text throughout the day whenever we get the chance. He says we can do it. There’s nothing he’s believed more than that.

We’re in Denver, spending his last few hours running around the city, making our final memories. We have two hours until his flight. That’s two hours left together.

Last night, we did nothing but make love until we were too tired to go on. Then we woke up in the middle of the night and did it again. It was the same thing when we woke up in the morning, after breakfast, before we had to leave the house to drive to Denver.

He even has an alternative for sex. We both admitted with red cheeks that we’d miss it. So he suggested phone sex, which made my already blushing face blush more. He says it won’t be the same, but it’ll have to do for the time being.

The biting cold wind hits us like a wall when we leave the shopping center. There’s a Häagen-Dazs at the airport, but Eric didn’t wanna pay for stupidly expensive airport ice cream. He’d rather drive almost forty minutes away. But really, I don’t think it’s about the price of the ice cream. I think it’s just that he doesn’t wanna be anywhere near that airport until he has to be. Because that’s my reason too.

Eric’s hand is back on my ass, and it’s odd how it settles the nervous churning of my stomach. I bury my nose in my scarf, the one I left at Clyde’s sister’s house a week after their parents’ wedding back in seventh grade. I can still taste the flavor of my cookie dough ice cream on my tongue. And I can taste Eric’s dulce de leche kiss too. The thought makes me whimper. After today, we won’t be able to do that anymore. Not until October, at least. Eric glances at me and flashes me a close-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. His hand slides up to my waist. We stop in the middle of the sidewalk, people around us parting to get past. Eric pulls me to him, and I clutch his hoodie.

“I don’t want you to go,” I say, my voice broken. As broken as I feel.

His breath is shaky on my neck. “I know. I know, B-Butts.” He pulls back, swiping his thumbs over my cheeks even though mine are dry. _His_ cheeks are wet. But before I can reach up and brush his tears away, he jerks his head to the left and says, “Let’s go.”

The sky is dark, but a few dim stars gleam in the blackness. I don’t like the city much because the lights overpower the glitter of the endless stars. Here, walking down this sidewalk, I can count the stars in the sky. The fact that I can is more unsettling than me being unable to count the abundance of stars. Eric managed to get a flight at 9:20, giving us both more time to spend together than we’d hoped for. And he did just that—spend the day with me. But now our time’s finally up. I can see it in the back of my mind, the timer hitting zero, blaring that horrible sound in my ears.

We get into the car parked at the end of the parking lot. We click on our seat belts. Eric starts the car and backs out. He sniffles a lot, swiping his hoodie sleeve across his nose. He jostles his glasses every time he does. He has his hood over his hat. I’m wearing one of his hoodies. He let me have three of any of his hoodies—my choice. But I couldn’t take any from him, so he gave me three of his favorites. When I protested that these were his favorites, and I couldn’t take them, he smiled and said, “Well, when I come back, you can return them to me.”

And him saying that was so comforting, because he didn’t say _if._ He said _when._

We get to the airport, and it’s hard to swallow. My throat’s dry and scratched up from too much crying even though I haven’t cried at all today. I woke up dry-eyed. It felt disrespectful almost, to know Eric’s going away and I can’t even cry real tears.

I help Eric unload his luggage from the trunk. He only has one, and his carry-on. I was worried that he wouldn’t have enough clothes to wear while he waits for his boxes, but he reminded me he can always wash his clothes.

The airport’s mostly empty at this hour. There are people asleep in chairs, some dozing off. I wonder if their flights are delayed, or if they’re waiting for someone they haven’t seen in years to land so they can run up to them and throw their arms around them in a welcoming embrace. I wonder if that’ll be me every time Eric comes home.

Near Eric’s gate is a restaurant. We’re meeting there with his family and our friends for a final goodbye.

We walk into the restaurant, and Clyde waves us over. Bebe’s sat next to him. Kyle, Stan, and Kenny are here too, as well as Eric’s parents. They’re sitting against the wall, some in the booth, some in padded chairs. They all smile at us, but their eyes are sober like they realize the sadness both Eric and I hold.

I slide in next to Bebe in the booth. Eric sits at the end, still pressed up to my side. “Hi, guys,” Bebe says. “We were just about to order.”

“Yeah, everything looks really good,” Kenny says, salivating down at his menu.

Nobody asks if Eric’s excited for his flight. Because everyone knows he’s not. He might be, deep down. But he’s more consumed about the fact that this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other until October. Until that time comes around, there’ll be no more slow kisses, tight hugs, holding hands during rough sex, loving stares, laughing under a fort of blankets, waking up in the middle of the night to ransack the fridge, no more smiles that light up his eyes as he leans in and presses his lips to mine so innocent I feel thirteen again.

No more nothing.

Eric orders ribs and mashed potatoes with gravy. I order a burger. When our food comes, Eric frowns down at untouched my plate. The burger looks good, and it makes my mouth water, but my stomach’s telling me to do nothing except take small sips of water, because if I were even to nibble a piece of the bun, I’d vomit all over Kyle in front of me.

Lips touch my cheek. My hand flies up to cup Eric’s jaw. He moves to the spot under my earlobe, rubbing his lips there. “You gotta eat something,” he murmurs.

“I’m not hungry,” I whisper.

He turns my face towards his. His eyes are begging. “For me?”

I hesitate. But then I swallow thickly and nod. Kenny passes me the ketchup, and I dump some onto the side of my plate. I gingerly dip the burger into it, raising it to my mouth and taking a small bite. Everyone’s watching the interaction with furrowed brows and frowning mouths. They’re all worried about us. But I wonder who they’re more worried about.

Eric kisses me softly. “Thank you,” he says.

As we eat, Eric slowly starts to smile as he talks with our friends. Some of his smiles are forced, some not, but all of them are guarded. He’s only let his guard down around me. Even after all these years with our friends, he’s still too afraid to be real with them. The only time I ever see his guard slip with our friends is when I’m around. I wonder if he’ll let his guard down when he goes to Philadelphia. Or if he never will.

Soon, Eric’s laughing and I’m smiling with my head on his shoulder. Clyde’s complaining about Kevin Stoley's snoring, saying how there are nights where he can barely get any sleep because he’s so loud. He exclaims, “Token’s even tempted to move out and go live in his own apartment with Nichole, but he’s not gonna do that to us because he knows we won’t be able to pay for rent if he leaves, even if all of us do have jobs.”

“That’s tough,” Stan says.

Eric says, “Am I the only one who finds it weird how Nichole and Token are married but they aren’t living together?”

Clyde sips his soda. “Oh, yeah. For now she’s staying with the girls, but she’s planning on moving into Token’s bedroom during spring semester. And Kevin’s planning on moving in with the girls as Nichole’s replacement, so I won’t have to deal with his snoring anymore. It all works out in the end,” he explains.

A petty thought wiggles its way into my brain: _Not_ all _works out in the end. If they did, Eric would stay._

It immediately makes me feel guilty. Eric asked meif he should go or not, various times, and when he finally decided, I wasn’t happy with his choice. I brought this on myself, in a way. I wonder how this would’ve played out if I’d insisted he stay instead of letting him slip through my fingers so easily.

But it’s too late for that. I can’t turn back time and fix my mistakes and change my decisions.

We stay in the restaurant for the remaining hour. But then Roger checks his watch. He says over the chatter of the table, “We should, uh, probably get going.”

Though his statement’s vague, everyone knows what he means. Eric’s hand grabs at mine, squeezing my fingers. I squeeze back as everyone starts to get up. Our group walks to Eric’s gate. His fingers are twitchy in my hand. I wrap his arm around my shoulders, keeping close to his side the whole way.

At his gate, an announcement’s made that there are ten minutes remaining until the flight takes off. Hearing the woman’s calm voice projected throughout the area finally breaks me like a hairline fracture in a pond of ice that plunges the whole thing into freezing cold water. Suddenly, I’m bursting into tears at a full force, my cheeks soaked. Our group stops and turns to me and Eric, who immediately has his arms around me and his lips on my face. I’m shaking hard, tremors wracking my body.

I hide my face in Eric’s neck, embarrassed to be crying but not embarrassed enough to stop. I reach up and twist my arms around the back of his neck, holding him tight to me. I feel every piece of him pressed against me. His arms, his lips, his nose, his shoulders, his stomach. And he’s so warm.

I feel Eric lift his face. He speaks to our friends and his family at my back. “So, um. It’s finally here, I guess.” His voice quavers.

There’s a surge of rippling air as everyone wraps Eric and me in a group hug. His mom’s crying too, and I’m guilty again because I’ve been so caught up in how I feel about his departure that I forgot about how everyone else would feel.

I look up enough that I can see the people around us with my mouth still on the crook of Eric’s shoulder. Clyde and his dad are red-eyed. Liane’s weeping. Stan, Kyle, and Kenny look somber, tight-lipped, their eyes on the floor or clamped shut like Stan’s.

Eric straightens up without letting go of me. His eyes are red too. He flashes a grim smile to his family. Liane cradles his face. He says to her, “I’ll keep in touch. And I’ll be over every break, so, um, that’s cool.” Liane laughs. He glances at Roger and Clyde and Bebe.

Clyde says, “You better.”

Bebe nods, swiping at the blackened tears rolling down her cheeks. “You know, Cartman, as much as I used to hate you, I consider you, like, a brother now, and well, it’s hard to see family go.”

Eric chuckles halfheartedly.

Roger steps up and claps a hand to Eric’s shoulder. “I’ve always seen you as my son. I hope you know that.” He presses a kiss to Eric’s hat. “I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too,” Eric whispers.

Liane cries, “Oh, my baby. You’ll always be my baby. I’m going to miss you so much, hon. I love you. I’m so, so proud of you.” She kisses his forehead too.

Eric’s throat bobs when he swallows. “It’s gonna be weird not having you around, Mom. And I know I don’t say it a lot, but I love you. You’re the best mom I could’ve asked for.”

Liane hiccups a sob that sounds like the ones coming from me. Eric shuffles me and him around so we face our friends. He opens his mouth, but Kyle holds up a finger. “ _Don’t_ you even dare say goodbye. Because you’re coming back, you fucking asshole.” He rolls his eyes. There are tears. “I fucking hate you for choosing some stupid school over us.”

Eric laughs. “Yeah, well, you’ve always given me a hard time.”

Kyle scoffs, crossing his arms. “Bullshit.”

Stan makes a sad sound. He’s crying too. Stan’s always been so emotional. “I can’t believe you’re actually going, dude,” he says. “I mean, like, right when our friendship’s at its strongest, you suddenly have to leave us. Not cool, dude. Not cool.”

The truth in Stan’s words sting, making me sob harder. Eric squeezes me, kissing me firmly, whispering “It’s okay” between our lips. Kyle puts an arm around Stan’s shoulder.

Kenny’s red in the face, his eyes swimming with tears. But he’s smiling. He’s the only one smiling. “I’m proud of you, Cartman,” he says. He motions to Stan and Kyle. “Despite what these selfish bastards say, I’m proud of you for even _wanting_ to go to college. You had to make a decision, and you went with the one you felt was best, even if it wasn’t the easiest. And that takes a lot of strength and maturity. I’m proud to call you my friend.”

Eric brings me over to them, where we’re squished into another group hug, all clinging to Eric, all not wanting him to go despite the fronts they put up.

The hug ends, and as we’re pulling back, Eric’s whispering something in Kenny’s ear so quiet I can’t hear even though I’m flush against Eric’s chest. Kenny stares hard at Eric, his eyes solemn as he nods. Eric grips his shoulder, staring at each other in silent conversation. Eric drops his hand, curling around my chin.

And he’s looking at me.

I guess in the chaos of parting ways, I didn’t notice the tears on Eric’s own cheeks, rolling down to the corner of his mouth. I push up to my tiptoes, my lips on his. I’m gonna miss the half inch gap between our heights that make it easy to kiss him, but force me to stand on my tiptoes to kiss his mouth.

One of his hands are on my hip, the other groping my ass. He smiles at me, and I smile at him. It’s a close-lipped smile we share, but it doesn’t hold sadness. It holds something you feel gazing at someone who’s been there for you since ten that you grew to love at thirteen. I keep my arms around his shoulders, playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

“I really,  _really_ don’t want you to go. I—I’m gonna miss you so much, Eric. You understand that, doncha? I dunno how I’m gonna go on without you,” I cry.

He laughs in a huff of breath fanning out across my face. “And you don’t think it’s the same for me?” He pinches my ass, brushing his lips to mine. “I’ll be right back, B-Butts. You won’t even notice me gone. I’ll be back. I promise,” he whispers.

It’s his goodbye without actually saying goodbye. My sobs come in harder. I put my face at his throat, doing whatever I can to hold onto him for as long as possible, to feel him on me for as long as possible.

The woman over the PA announces five more minutes until departure.

It’s happening. It’s really happening. He’s really going away for four years.

Eric kisses me feverishly, his hands roaming every inch of my body, trying to map out every piece of skin in case there was someplace undiscovered. He kisses me like he can’t stop, like he magically forgot. His hands go under my shirt, his fingers caressing my skin. It feels so good that it hurts. When we pull back for breath, he pants, “I’ll text you.” He kisses me. “On the flight. I don’t give a shit if there’s no reception.” Another kiss. “I’m gonna text you everything.” And another. “Every fucking minute.” And another. “And when I land, you’ll get, like, five thousand texts.” Another. “And I’ll call you as soon as I get reception. I don’t give a fuck if we haven’t even landed.” He kisses me hard and desperate, his mouth hot on mine. “I promise.”

We don’t need to say it, our pinkies hooking in unspoken mutual agreement.

The PA lady says there are three more minutes.

Eric licks the tears off my face, licks my mouth open to kiss me the way I like. He moves down, grinding his teeth across the skin of my neck.

“I love you so much. I love you. I love you,” I sob, my chest hurting in a dull, twisting ache. I don’t know what else to say except _I love you._

“I love you too. More than anything,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of my head with his thumb.

That fire’s behind his eyes, raging with a burning red passion. I take off my scarf, wrapping it around his neck. He holds it to his nose, breathing in the scent of me. We share our last lingering kiss. He runs his thumb over my jawline as his lips stay pressed to mine. And I feel it. I feel a tear trickling down his face, melding in with my own endless tears.

The PA lady announces the last few people who haven’t boarded the plane. She calls Eric’s name, and his face falls, torn from the inside out. I want him to stay right here, holding me. I want him to tell that PA lady he changed his mind. Instead, against my lips, he whispers, “I’ll be right back. I swear it.”

He takes a step back, slipping through my arms so slow I know he doesn’t want to go. Not really. He nods at his family and our friends. His eyes lock with mine, the right a blend of blue-violet, the left a steady brown. “I love you, Butters,” he says. And then he turns around. And he doesn’t look back.

I watch him hand his ticket to the PA lady by the opening of the gate. She smiles at him. But he just walks through stiffly.

I realize I’m on my knees on the floor, sobbing like I was just stabbed through the heart. I find myself clutching at the spot on my chest where my heart is. My tears fall to my lap, soaking through my jeans.

Then I’m being lifted off the floor, held to a chest encasing a pounding heart. I’m being carried. And then the gate Eric left through gets further away. I scream and thrash, pummeling Kenny’s chest with closed fists. “Put me down!” I cry. “Let me go, Kenny! He might—he might come back!”

Kenny just frowns sadly, not believing it. And I don’t believe it either.

I don’t care if people are looking at me like I’m crazy. They can keep on looking. I keep fighting against Kenny’s hold until I’m too weak and worn to do anything but lay limp in his arms.

Kenny follows Stan and Kyle and Eric’s family out to where the cars are temporarily parked. Stan opens the backseat door for Kenny, where he sets me down and buckles me in. I let him pull his orange sleeve over his hand and dry my face. His face is pinched in worry and sadness. “It’s okay, Leo,” he says.

I sniffle, not wanting to open my mouth for the fear of bursting into tears again.

Liane appears over Kenny’s shoulder. She touches his arm. Kenny turns and steps to the side to let Liane come to me. She brushes my hair from my face. “I’ll miss him too, sweetheart. He’ll do great in school, just like you.” She taps my nose and kisses my forehead. “Come talk to me anytime, okay?”

I nod.

When Liane steps back and goes to her car, Bebe wraps her arms around me. “Clyde and I are here for you too, you understand?” She smooths out the wrinkles in Eric’s hoodie I’m wearing. She also kisses my forehead, pulling up the hood and tying the drawstrings in a bow. She flashes me a sad smile.

Clyde also hugs me goodbye, saying he’ll miss Eric too. Him, Bebe, and his parents get into their car and drive off.

Kyle’s at the wheel, Stan in the passenger seat still sniffling. Kenny gets in next to me. He puts his arm around me, and a deep sigh escapes me as I lean into him, leaving me limp again. Kyle waits for an opening in the slow stream of cars before pulling out of the spot and driving out of the airport. Stan turns on the radio, increasing the volume. Peppy pop music’s playing. It doesn’t match the mood, but it distracts me from the pain in my chest.

The drive’s quiet aside from the wheels rumbling down the road, the click of the blinker, and the low murmur of musical voices. The sounds lull me off into a light sleep.

When Kyle parks the car in the resident parking lot, I shoot up, startling Kenny. I grab for my phone in the hoodie pocket. There are no texts from Eric. Of course not. He’s up in the sky. There’s no reception there. Kenny undoes my seat belt for me. We get out of the car, walking up to the second floor of the apartment complex. The night air’s cold, making my teeth chatter.

Stan unlocks the door. We step inside, the heater already on. Our apartment’s bigger than I first expected when I saw it in person with Eric back in August. The kitchen's on the left, the living room straight ahead. Stan and Kyle’s rooms are on the left side, mine and Kenny’s on the right.

Stan slicks back his hair. “I’m gonna go to bed,” he sighs.

Kyle says, “Me too.”

They disappear into their rooms.

Kenny moves past me, giving my shoulder a reassuring pat. He goes to the living room, pulling the curtains over the balcony doors. He falls to the couch, staring blankly at the TV screen. He says quietly, “Do you want something to eat?”

I shake my head. “I’m not hungry. I’m—I’m just gonna go to my room.”

Kenny nods, picking up the remote on the arm of the couch. Kenny, Kyle and Stan have been living here since August, trying to get a feel of the apartment. I didn’t, because I preferred living in Eric’s bedroom. I preferred waking up with him and falling asleep next to him. In August though, Eric and I came by to make the room mine. We hung up my clothes in the walk-in closet, put knickknacks on the windowsill and put up my fairy lights. He added the clothes he gave me to the closet. He put the photo album on my desk. At first, he was tempted to give me his hat, but I convinced him not to.

I flick on the lights to my room. The bed’s still freshly made. Three pillows are on it. Two are mine from home. The third's Eric’s. He gave it to me when we came here to set up. I kick off my shoes, walking into the closet and changing into one of Eric’s shirts and a pair of basketball shorts. I take one of Eric’s hoodies from its hanger, replacing it with the one I was wearing. His red hoodie in hand, I crawl into bed, taking his pillow and pulling his hoodie over it.

The tears come again as I clutch the pillow to my chest. It smells like him, but it doesn’t emit his warmth.

I drift in and out of sleep, always checking my phone in between just in case I missed a notification from Eric. But so far, there’s nothing. It’s almost eleven. I can’t believe it’s already been two hours. It feels like two years.

I find myself coming out of sleep an hour later. I’ve rolled onto my side, facing the window. It’s dark in my room. Kenny must’ve turned off the lights for me. The pillow's still held tightly to me. I blink the bleary sleep from my eyes.

A loud ping startles me. I roll onto my back, grabbing my phone. It continues to ping over and over, all at the same time. I turn on my phone, seeing a flood of texts from Eric, some still coming in. It’s 12:59 a.m. He must be in reception range. Or maybe he just turned off airplane mode, which I doubt he even had on.

My heart races as I open the messages. There are six thousand, one hundred, and two, just from him alone. I scroll up to the top, reading his first text: **its only been like 2 minutes away from u and i already miss u**. It was when he first walked through the gate. He must’ve been sitting in his seat when he sent this.

I read the rest, all of them. They’re all short bubbles, mostly saying how he misses me and he loves me. There are pictures of the dark clouds in the sky too. He tells me about the flavorless airplane food and the flat Mountain Dew he bought. A waste of money, he says. Would not recommend. He tells me about the woman sitting next to him, the sound of her typing on her keyboard loud even through his earbuds. He tells me about the same two songs constantly playing over and over, and even though he loves them, he’s getting sick of them. He complains about how his leg’s asleep and it’s the worst feeling. The only thing worse is how we’re apart. He tells me he thinks there’s a couple in the bathroom fucking because he heard sex noises when he tried to use the bathroom but found it occupied. When he knocked on the door, they just got louder. His bladder might explode.

I laugh at that story.

He tells me about the captain and his cringey appeal to make “young people references," and how his glasses are making the bridge of his nose ache, how he hates that when he takes them off he can barely see anything, how he’s getting too hot in his hoodie but doesn’t want to take it off because the woman’s kinda intimidating. She shot him a glare when he yawned too loud, and even though he glared back, she freaked him out. He says she’s an actual snake. She even has alligator skin boots.

But most of it’s Eric gushing about memories we’ve made together, from preschool to right before he had to go. Even through the texts, he sounds wistful and daydreamy. I imagine him with his phone to his face, his thumbs moving across the screen as he smiles absently. Because that’s how I’m smiling as I read his messages.

I’ve just finished reading all the texts when my phone starts ringing, Eric’s name lit up on the screen. I answer right away.

“Eric!” I exclaim, immediately clapping a hand over my mouth, wondering if Kenny’s asleep in his room.

Breathlessly, he says, “Hey, B-Butts.”

I break down all over again, his voice like music in my ears. “How—how was the flight? I got all your texts, and it sounded eventful,” I say, laughing through my tears because I’m so happy to talk to him again.

“It was fine. We’re landing right now. But I don’t really care about the flight, even if it was stupid as hell. I was thinking about you the whole time. Like, everything we’ve ever done just came back to me, even the stuff I haven’t remembered for years. I was, like, really in my feelings.” More softly, he says, “You’re fire, baby. You know that, right?”

My eyebrows furrow. “What’s fire mean?”

“You know how you hear people say, like, ‘my mixtape is fire’? It’s like that. You’re fire.”

I giggle. “I haven’t heard people say that in real life, but I get what you mean.”

“And I haven’t heard any fire mixtapes in real life. They all suck,” he says. “I hate rap.”

I laugh again, crushing Eric’s pillow to me.

“Did you sleep at all?” he asks.

I find myself nodding, despite him being unable to see me. “A little. I tried to stay awake so I could answer your call when it came. What time’s it there, anyhow?”

“Three. Hang on, we’re touching down.”

Eric and I keep talking in secretive whispers like if I talk too loud, Eric’ll be discovered by the flight attendant and have his phone confiscated like back in high school. He narrates everything he does—from walking to the terminal and collecting his luggage to getting into an Uber—and I lay back with my eyes closed and his pillow pressed to my face as I try to imagine him doing everything he says. When Eric gets to his dorm, he says, “My roommate’s named Les Castellanos. Who the fuck names their kid Les? How is it even pronounced? Like ‘less’ or like ‘lez’?”

“Sounds Greek,” I muse.

“Les? Or Les?”

“No. Castellanos.”

“Oh.” He pauses. I hear the sound of a lock turning and a door opening. “He’s not here,” he says. “But the bed’s not made, so he’s been here.”

“Maybe you’ll meet him in the morning,” I say.

“I don’t know if I want to.”

“Oh, Eric.”

We talk for hours. There never seems to be a dry moment in our conversation. We both have so much to say. Soon, Eric’s voice starts to get quieter, more tired.

“You should probably go to bed,” I say. A glance at my clock tells me it’s 3:13 a.m. “It’s five thirteen there, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You should sleep. You’ll be jet lagged for a couple days. And then you have class on Tuesday. Bein’ tired on your first day won’t make a very good first impression,” I tell him.

“But I’m not ready to hang up.”

“We’ve been talkin’ for more than two hours. I want you to sleep. Call me as soon as you wake up, okay?”

“Okay.”

“G’night, Eric.”

“Love you.”

“I—I love you too.”

I end the call, staring down at my phone screen as it fades to black. I take a deep breath, shutting off my phone and plugging it into its charger. I set my phone on my desk, burrowing beneath my blankets. I bury my face in Eric’s pillow, breathing in his scent, pretending he’s here in my bed with me and not hours away in Philadelphia. Maybe if I pretend enough, I might actually be able to trick myself into believing it’s him, and not just a pillow he’s slept on for years with one of his favorite hoodies pulled over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Spinning faster than the plane that took you  
> And this is when the feeling sinks in  
> I don't wanna miss you like this..."  
> -Come Back...Be Here


	17. Kenny McCormick

**College, freshman year.**

“I’m worried about him. I mean, all he does is stay locked up in his room all day. He leaves to go to class, and eat, and use the bathroom, but he never just sits with us in the living room. I’m really worried about him, princess.”

“Well, think about it. He’s acting pretty reasonable in a situation like his. I mean, he was with a guy for five years, and suddenly he’s gonna be gone for four. If I was in his place, I’d be acting worse than him.”

I run my fingers through Henrietta’s hair. She got a trim since the last time I saw her. The ends are even and healthy. She still looks so good. Her head is on my chest. We’re laying in her bed, naked under the covers.

The image of Leo locked in his room for days on end doing nothing but studying and awaiting Cartman’s call is concerning to me. Before Cartman got on that flight, he whispered to me to take care of Leo for him while he’s gone, like he did in senior year. In hindsight, it sounds foreboding, knowing Cartman knew Leo would react this way. But then again, they’ve been together for five years, so I guess it’s good Cartman knows Leo’s behavior and mannerisms.

It’s after midnight, and Henrietta’s parents are asleep. All the candles in her room are blown out, leaving the room in almost pitch blackness. Her window is open, letting in pale moonlight.

“How bad is worse?” I ask.

She shrugs, rubbing her cheek against my shoulder. “I’d probably sell my soul to the devil to see him again. If I were in Butters’ place.”

I purse my lips. “You’d sell you soul for anything. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t sold it already,” I joke.

She looks up at me. “How do you know I haven’t?”

I roll my eyes, kissing her nose. “I just know.”

“Hm. That’s some solid evidence you have there,” she says sarcastically.

My hand moves from her hair to her arm, stroking her smooth skin. “So guess what?” I say.

“What?”

“Kyle and Heidi broke up last week.”

Henri sits up fast, the blanket falling from her shoulders. My eyes skim over her exposed skin. I graze my fingers over her collarbones, trailing my fingers down. She lets me touch her as she says in disbelief, “They broke up?”

I nod. “Yeah. Kyle says it was a mutual agreement. He says they both think they’re better off as friends,” I explain.

Henrietta laughs. “Funny, considering they seemed to like to fuck each other a lot.” She pauses. “Did she give him back the bracelet?”

“Kyle said she tried, but he insisted she keep it.”

Henri lowers herself back onto my chest. She twirls my shark tooth necklace around her finger. She’s told me before that she thinks it’s cute how I still wear it, even after nine years since the trip to Hawaii with Leo. I told her that thinking something’s cute was conformist, and she pinched me playfully.

She says, “He’s stupid for doing that. He could’ve sold it. Or maybe that’s not a good idea since he’d probably have to sell it for less than it’s worth. Either way, he’d still have money.”

“True. But ever since they broke up, Kyle and Stan seem to have gotten even _closer_ than I imagined. I’m starting to get the feeling that there’s something more than platonic between them,” I say.

Henri snorts. “You’re just now realizing this?”

“Well—no. But it’s never been more apparent, I mean.”

“I always thought that it was the girls who tended to gossip a bunch after sex, but I’m starting believe guys can do it too. Because you get really gossipy afterwards. Not that I mind. It’s actually nice to hear about what the others are up to. It doesn’t make me feel so alone for being one of the only few our age left in town,” she says.

I kiss her mouth. “Princess, you’ll never be alone. You have me. And the other goths. Firkle’s only a sophomore, so he’s not gonna be gone for another two years. Same with Karen.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

She sighs deeply, her eyes falling shut. “Hey, Kenny?” she whispers.

“Hm?”

“You know you’re defeating the entire purpose of why I broke up with you by coming over all the time, right?” she says, her eyelids cracking open as she smirks up at me.

I laugh. Jokingly, I ask, “Should we just get back together then? Because I heard you should distance yourself from an ex in case of lingering feelings.” Quietly, I wonder, “Do you have lingering feelings for me?” My stomach twists as I wait for her reply. I don’t want her to say she’s completely over me, because I know I’m nowhere near completely over her.

Her arms wrap around my shoulders. She kisses my cheek. “Sometimes,” she admits.

As relief washes over me, I pretend to be offended, putting a hand to my chest and faking a gasp. “Sometimes?” I echo. “That’s rude. I think about you all the time.” I wish it wasn’t so true.

She giggles. She only giggles when she’s tired because otherwise, she would rather be dead than be caught giggling.

I smile, pulling her to my chest and bringing the covers up over us. In her ear, I agree, “I have lingering feelings for you sometimes too.”

 

At noon the next day, I unlock the door to the apartment. I always sleep the most soundly in Henri’s bed. It’s probably a metaphor for something.

I take my black face mask from my face, stuffing it into my pocket. I’m hit with the smell of toasted bread and melting cheese. I close the door behind me, walking into the kitchen. Leo’s standing at the stove humming along to the song playing from Stan’s Bluetooth speaker. There’s a faint smile on his face as he flips a piece of bread over. He usually takes the two hours between his classes for lunch. And I have one class on Mondays so I can work the whole day, but Tweek Bros nor City Wok needs me today.

I sit at the counter, watching him. “You seem awful chipper today,” I say, grinning. I haven’t seen him smile like this since before Cartman left. It’s refreshing to see him being his usual self after seeing him frown for so long.

His smile grows wider as he looks up at me. “Well of course! Eric’s comin’ home in three days. _Three_ days, Ken.” He looks off into the distance, his eyes glazing over as he disappears into a daydream. “Can you believe that?” he breathes.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Yeah. I’m excited. I can’t wait to hear the stories he has so far,” I say. Cartman’s always been a trouble magnet.

Leo sighs blissfully. “Me too.”

He stays like that for a few more seconds. But then he blinks out of his lovestruck state when his bread starts to sizzle. He yelps, taking it out of the pan and flipping it on top of the cheese on another slice of bread.

“Want me to make you one?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Here, take this one.” He gives me the grilled cheese he made for himself. “I’ll just make another.” He turns around and grabs two more slices of bread, tossing them onto the pan. He trades his spatula for a knife, smearing butter over the slices. “So,” he starts, glancing up at me, “where’d you go last night?”

I feel my face heat up as I admit, “Oh. I just went to hang out with Henrietta. You know.” I take a bite of the sandwich to cover up my nervousness at his question.

Leo nods slowly, and I know he knows what I mean by “hang out.” The thing is, I never told my friends outright that Henrietta and I are still having sex, but I think they’ve caught on by now. It’s not that I’m worried about them knowing. I’m more worried about what they think of it all. Are they disappointed in me? Did they expect it? Or do they not care, which I actually prefer above the rest?

Leo finishes making his grilled cheese, sitting next to me. We eat in quiet for a bit, and Leo lets me play “Make It Right” on the speaker. One of the various things that’s awesome about Leo is his open-mindedness about pretty much anything. Because I know if Stan, Kyle, or Cartman were to sit here with me, they wouldn’t dare let me play my music.

I find myself singing along in between bites.

“Do you understand what they’re saying?” Leo asks.

I look at him. “Hm?”

He shrugs, his blue eyes flicking to the speaker next to him. “I mean, you’re singin’ in Korean. Do you know what they’re sayin’?”

“No. I don’t know the exact translation of the words, but I can sum up the song,” I say.

“Oh,” Leo says. “You should teach me sometime.”

We trade a grin. “Definitely.” I pause, just now realizing the absence of Stan and Kyle. “Stan and Kyle are in class, right?” I ask. It’s been hard to tell whether they’re in class or just hanging out together.

Leo nods, sipping his water. “Mhm. Kyle’s not gonna be home for a while after though. He’s got an interview,” he says.

I pop the final bite of grilled cheese into my mouth. “Damn. That’s awesome.”

“Yeah. I should probably start lookin’ for a job. I feel kinda useless not bein’ able to pay rent,” he says, his nose scrunched up. He twists his napkin in his hands.

“You’re not useless,” I tell him. What I don’t tell him is that it’s probably best he hasn’t gotten a job yet, so he can adjust to a lifestyle without so much Cartman. I’ve been to many interviews, and I know that they don’t like hiring the mopey assholes. Not that Leo _is_ an asshole. It’s just that I would hate for him to not get a job because they decided he’s too downcast for the spot.

“Maybe Eric can help me look for one,” he muses. As soon as he says it, his phone starts ringing. He grabs it so fast, his arm is a blur. He beams down at his screen, and I know it’s Cartman calling. Leo answers instantly, propping his phone up against his cup.

Cartman’s face appears on the screen. He’s beaming as wide as Leo as he gazes at the screen. I’ve never seen him smile like that except when Leo’s around. I notice the two guys at his either side. They’re sitting on a couch, a picture frame hung up on a wall white behind them. The guy at Cartman’s left says, “Hold up, lemme guess which one’s the boyfriend.”

The guy on the right reaches behind Cartman and smacks the other upside the head. “Stupid. We _know_ which one’s the boyfriend. He was literally showing us pictures before he called.” He looks at us. “Blue Eyes is the boyfriend. Butters,” he says.

“Uh, hi,” Leo says. His eyebrows are furrowed at the screen, and I wonder what he’s thinking about seeing Cartman in between two guys we’ve never even seen before.

Cartman gestures to the guy on the right. “B-Butts, Kenny, this is Les, my roommate. And it’s not pronounced ‘less,’ it’s ‘lez.’ And he’s Greek, like you guessed, Butters,” he says.

“Hiya, Les,” Leo greets.

“Hi,” Les says. There’s nothing too outstanding about him. He’s wearing a UPenn hat over his brown hair, and he’s wearing a Vans T-shirt. He’s skinny.

Cartman jabs a thumb at the guy on his left and says, “This is Callum Locke.”

“Wussup. I’m Callum. I’m biracial,” he says.

Les covers his face with his hands. “We can _tell,_ Callum. Why do you always have to introduce yourself like that?”

Callum shrugs.

“Hang on,” I interject. “You,” I point to Les, “said that Cartman was showing you pictures? Of Leo?” For some odd reason, I find it amusing. Cartman having pictures of his boyfriend is normal, sure, and it makes even more sense now that they’re in a long distance relationship, but the fact that Cartman showed them to his new friends is hilarious.

Callum explains, “We caught him all smiling down at his phone, and I was like, ‘Who you texting? Your shawty?’ And he was like, ‘My what?’ And I said, ‘You know, like your shawty. Your girl. Your wifey.’ And he was all, ‘Nah, I don’t have a shawty. I have a homeboy.’ And I was like, ‘Aight.’ And when Les and Cartman just kinda smirked at me like I didn’t get it, I was like, ‘Oh, damn. Wait just a hot minute.’ And then Cartman explained he’s got a boyfriend—” He jerks his eyebrows at Leo. Leo doesn't notice, too busy staring at Cartman with that distant daydream smile, and Cartman is too busy making eyes at Leo to say something about it. “And so Les asked if he had any pictures, and this dude was like, ‘Duh. Lemme just make sure I don’t accidentally show you his nudes.’ ”

Cartman's hold on Leo breaks. He groans, color rushing up to his cheeks. “Fuck you, Callum.”

I start laughing, unable to picture Leo sending nudes. But a glance at his red face tells me it’s true. I wonder if it’s a new thing, or something they’ve been doing since they got together.

Callum opens his mouth to continue, but Les interrupts, “This is going on too long so let me just finish. Cartman showed us the pictures—don’t worry, we didn’t see your nudes—and he explained that you’re in a long distance relationship. So he called because he normally calls you, but he just figured he’d introduce us.”

Cartman leans forward with his elbows on his knees, pulling his hood over his hat.

Leo says, “I like your new hoodie, Eric.”

It’s gray, the school logo printed across the chest.

Cartman grins. “I like your hoodie too.”

Leo’s wearing one of Cartman’s hoodies. His black Antisocial Social Club one. Leo blushes and hides his smiling mouth with the sleeve. While they continue to gaze at each other, completely besotted, I ask Callum, “Are you their roommate too?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I’m their neighbor though. I hang out here more often because my roommate’s a fucking bitch. I would request to move, but I like being next door.”

“How’d all of you meet?” I’m genuinely curious about this, because all my life, I’ve known Cartman as a prejudiced asshole. So seeing that he’s friends with Callum is a shock. But then again, he’s not who he used to be, so maybe he’s grown past that.

Les answers, “Well, Callum and I met at the new student orientation. Cartman and I are roommates, so that was a given. And like Callum said, since he comes over a lot, we all just kind of became friends by default.”

Leo asks, “Eric, how come you didn’t go to that orientation?”

Cartman shrugs. “Because I would’ve had to leave sooner, and I didn’t want to cut our time short just to meet stupid people.”

“Oh, Eric. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize. I don’t regret it at all, actually. I’d rather spend my time with you.”

Me, Les, and Callum all _Aww_ at the same time. Cartman and Leo blush.

“Fuck you guys,” Cartman snaps.

The three of us burst into laughter.

Cartman rolls his eyes, picking up whatever he’s using to call Leo with. “Okay, get out now. Go to Callum’s dorm. Donnie’s probably in class anyway, and even if he’s not I’m still kicking you out, and you can’t come back until I let you,” he says. He starts walking. Leo pulls his phone closer to him.

His voice distant, Les remarks, “Why? So you can have phone sex with Butters?”

I hear Callum laugh.

“Fuck you,” Cartman says. “Seriously. Now get out.”

I glance at Leo, his phone screen facing his chest. He blushes. “Um,” he says, looking away from me.

I grin. “It’s fine. You go ahead. I’ll clean up for you.”

He smiles at me gratefully. “Thanks, Kenny.” He resumes talking to Cartman as he walks to his room, their voices low. Leo locks the door behind him, giggling.

I take the empty plates and put them in the sink, running water over them. I shoot Leo a text that I’ll be out grocery shopping. He replies with a simple **Ok**. I pat myself down, making sure I have my phone and my wallet. I leave the apartment before things can escalate.


	18. Butters Stotch

**College, freshman year.**

I’m numb with anticipation. It’s October first, and I’m sitting in the departure lounge in the Denver airport. My leg bounces fast, jostling my entire body. Kyle puts a hand on my left knee to still me. It works for a few seconds, but then my right knee starts bobbing up and down. He holds down both my knees, looking at me, his green eyes boring into mine. “Calm down, dude. I know you’re excited, but you’re making me jittery,” he says.

“Sorry,” I say.

I sit back in my chair when Kyle lifts his hands, crossing my feet so I don’t keep bouncing my legs. All our classes are later in the day, so when Eric said he got a flight that would arrive at eight, I made sure I'd be able to see him at the airport. It’s crazy how things all fall into place like this.

Stan’s asleep next to Kyle, his head on Kyle’s shoulder. I dunno if they’re dating or not, but it sure seems like it. Kenny has a textbook in his lap, reviewing whatever he’s doing in class. Kyle’s on his phone. They’re all doing something, but all I can do’s sit here and let my anxiety take over. I tried to do something to pass the time, but I always found my mind and sight straying to the entrance of the gate and the empty runway.

On the big windows in front of us, the rain comes down in light pattering. I watch two droplets race each other down the glass, trailing down in zigzags. The gate’s quiet. We’re the only ones here aside from a man sleeping in one of the chairs. So when the loud sound of rumbling cuts through the quiet, I find my eyes immediately attached to the plane rolling into the airside. My breath catches in my throat, my hands beginning to shake.

“He’s here,” I breathe.

Kyle and Kenny look up to the windows, watching with me as the airplane rolls to a stop.

My heart jumps up to my throat, and my words are muffled in my ears when I say, “How long do you think it’ll be till they let the passengers off?”

“Five minutes, maybe,” Kenny mumbles, leaning to the right to see more than just the tail of the plane.

Maybe it’s five minutes, maybe it’s two, maybe it’s an hour, but when people start coming out of the gate with their carry-ons, I shoot to my feet. I crane my neck over the crowd of heads, the beat of my heart like a drum roll.

There’s a break in the crowd, a small one. But big enough for me to see the teal and yellow hat, the red hoodie, his steps quick, his head looking around frantically. My eyes sting as I shout, “Eric!”

His head turns in the direction of my voice, and I’m running towards him at a full force. I jump on him, throwing my arms and legs around him, sobbing into his shoulder. We hold each other tight. He clutches the back of my jacket, his nose pressed against my collarbone.

“I missed you so much,” he murmurs.

I whimper, holding him tighter, just in case this ain’t real and it’s just a dream where in reality I’m in my bed, hugging Eric’s pillow to me. But I know it’s real when he kisses me, his lips quivering like he’s afraid he’ll wake up as soon as his lips meet mine. But we don’t wake up. We’re already awake, and this kiss isn’t just another one of our dreams.

We pull back slowly, unable to open our eyes for a moment. But we stare into each other eventually. His eyes sparkle behind his glasses as they search mine. I stroke his cheeks with my thumbs. And then I’m laughing. I put my forehead against his, feeling him smile beneath my fingertips. He walks us over to our friends, who stand up to greet him. I slip from his arms so they can hug him, but I stay clinging to Eric’s side.

“How’s school been so far?” Kyle asks.

Eric rolls his eyes. “Of course that’s the first thing you ask.”

“It’s a valid question.”

Eric just grins.

“Did you miss us too?” Kenny teases.

Eric scoffs, but then he puts his hand on my neck. “A little, admittedly,” he says.

Stan sniffles, and Kyle rubs his back.

Eric watches in amusement. “So you and Heidi are really broken up?” he asks Kyle. He absentmindedly strokes my hair in a way I’ve missed so much. I sigh, slumping against him.

Kyle says, “Yeah. Back at the end of September. We’re cool though. I let her keep the bracelet.”

Eric makes a _You're a fucking idiot_ face at him. “Why?”

“Why not?”

Eric smirks the way he does when he comes up with something that he knows’ll set Kyle off. “So are you and Stan dating now?” he taunts.

Both Kyle and Stan flush, their lips pressed into thin lines. But they don’t say no. Then again, they don’t say yes either.

Kenny waves a dismissive hand. “They’ll tell us if they’re dating, I’m sure of it. They don’t have the strength to keep it secret for years on end like you and Leo. Now we should get going because I have class in less than two hours,” he says.

“Oh yeah, me too,” Stan mutters.

Eric looks at me. I look at him. He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Can I have a piggyback ride?” I ask, wanting more than to hold his hand. I want to feel his warmth on my whole body.

“If you carry my backpack.”

“Of course!”

I take Eric’s backpack, and he crouches down and scoops me up. I cling to his neck, all of the nervous energy seeping out of my bones because of the feeling of his back against my chest is real. Kenny leads us to the baggage reclaim, following the signs put up around the airport.

Eric only has one luggage since he’s only gonna be here for four days. And it’s not like he took all his clothes to Philadelphia with him. He still has some in his closet back in South Park. He’s only planning on going there to see his parents though. Kenny offers to roll Eric’s luggage for him since his hands are occupied by holding up my thighs so I don’t slide off.

In the car, I keep myself pressed up to Eric real close, my legs slung over his lap. He continues to run his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck. It makes me sigh, nuzzling into him, longing to fall asleep in his arms.

It’s not until Kyle hisses from the passenger seat, “Fuck, I might be late to class today” do I remember I won’t be able to fall asleep in Eric’s arms because I have class too.

“I told you you should’ve just stayed at the apartment,” Stan says, his eyes on the road. The windshield wipers move at a steady rhythm with the rain.

Kyle scoffs. “Oh, don’t start.”

Eric smirks down at me, and I imagine him silently telling me how couple-ish Stan and Kyle already sound.

When we get to the apartment, Kyle hurries out of the car before Stan’s even fully parked. He runs up the stairs. Stan pinches the bridge of his nose, smiling faintly. The rest of us meet Kyle up in the apartment eventually, not as in a frantic rush as he is. He flies around the living room, throwing stuff into his backpack. He zips it up, slinging it over his shoulder hastily. “Okay, I’m going. See you dudes tonight,” he says a little breathlessly. Then he leaves.

Eric jerks a thumb at the closing door, staring quizzically at Stan and Kenny. “Has he been like this all year?” he asks.

“Just when he’s almost late. And he considers only having three minutes before class starts late,” Kenny answers. He gives Eric his luggage.

Eric snorts, taking it from him.

My hand slides down from his arm to his hand, tugging him forward. “C’mon. Let’s go put your stuff down,” I say, a whine in my voice.

Stan says, “Kenny and I are going to class now. Bye.”

“Bye,” Eric and I say.

As the front door closes yet again, I lead Eric to my room. He sets his luggage under my desk, along with his backpack. As he’s crouched down going through it, I drape myself over his back, my cheek on his shoulder. “I don’t wanna go to class,” I mumble. “I just wanna stay here with you.”

“You have to go to class. I’ll be fine. I have homework to finish anyway.”

I chuckle. “I remember when you wouldn’t do your homework without me tellin’ you.”

“Me too. You should go too. I don’t want you to be late because of me,” he says.

I stand up with him. He pulls me into a hug, squeezing me tight. “I’ll be right here when you come back. And you have two classes on Friday, and then the weekend. It’ll be great.”

I look up at him, and he kisses me. “Okay,” I say. “I gotta go then.”

He gives me a final squeeze before I grab my backpack on my desk. I check to make sure I have everything. “You can watch Netflix or YouTube on the TV if you want. The input for the Xbox is the second one, and input three’s for the PS4. There’s food in the fridge. And you know where the bathrooms are. So.” He’s smiling at me, his lips together. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says.

“Oh. Well.” I press up to my tiptoes and kiss him again. “I’m goin’ now.”

“And I’ll be staying here.”

We kinda just stare at each other for a heartbeat. “Okay,” I say eventually.

The rain’s stopped, leaving the sidewalk to smell like petrichor. As I’m walking to school, I realize why there was that pause of silence between us before I left. Neither of us wanted to say goodbye, just like at the airport. Because goodbye makes it sound like you’ll never see the person again. We don’t want to say goodbye.

All throughout class, I find my attention straying, drifting back to the apartment, wondering what Eric’s doing. He probably searched the fridge first after I left. I made sure to buy a box of Mountain Dew for him yesterday. He probably had two, watching YouTube next, then Netflix. He’s probably playing video games right now. Probably a first-person shooter because he likes those kinds of games.

I retain the basic information being gone over in my classes. And if I did miss anything important, I can always ask the couple of people I’ve acquainted.

In my last class for the day, I watch the time at the bottom right corner of my laptop slowly tick by. There are two more minutes. And it’s a five minute walk to the apartment, but if I jog, maybe it’ll take three. Kyle gets off earliest on Thursdays since he starts earlier. He’s probably already home. I wonder what him and Eric are doing. I hope they aren’t arguing. I hate it when they do that.

At the head of the classroom, the professor says, “Well, that concludes our day. See you all next week.”

I jolt in my seat, closing my laptop a little too roughly, scooping it into my arms along with my backpack. I’m the first out the classroom. As I walk down the sidewalk, I stuff my laptop into my backpack, taking out my key. I run the rest of the way home, the teeth of the key digging into my palm.

At the door, I find out I didn’t even need it, as the door’s already unlocked. I forgot Kyle keeps it unlocked on Thursdays for me and the others. I swing it open, only bothering to close it and drop my backpack at the door before barreling towards Eric on the couch.

Kyle’s just a blur sitting on the other sofa as I climb over the arm of the couch Eric’s on, clambering into his lap and wrapping my arms around him. The force of it knocks him onto his back. I laugh into his chest.

“How was class?” he asks.

“Boring. I was thinkin’ bout you the whole time,” I say, my voice muffled by his shirt.

“Same.”

I giggle, tucking my hands under his back. He kisses the top of my head.

We lay like that, and I watch Eric continue to play  _Dark Souls._ He’s fighting against one of those bosses, swearing quietly under his breath, “Oh, fuck. I’m screwed.”

As soon as he says it, he dies. He looks down at me like it’s my fault. I lift a hand in question. “What’d I do?” I ask.

“You didn’t kiss me good luck.”

I shift up to lightly kiss his bottom lip. “Well you didn’t ask,” I say, pouting.

He starts again in the game, saying, “This should be an automatic thing by now, B-Butts. Come on.”

I look up at him, and he smirks. He kisses me.

Our friends let Eric choose where he wants to eat, and it comes as a surprise to us all when he doesn’t pick KFC, but a little diner nearby. It’s close enough to walk, the sidewalks lit up by yellow streetlights. The wind’s cool, blowing through our clothes, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s almost welcoming.

There are other students from Boulder at the restaurant. Stan recognizes some. He’s on the football team for Boulder, which is understandable since he got his scholarship from playing football back in high school.

Kenny slurps from the last of his milkshake, nodding in approval. “This place is really good. I had no idea it was even here. How’d you know about it, Cartman?” he asks.

Eric shrugs, putting his arm around me. He tosses his crumpled up napkin onto his empty plate. “Les actually was the one to tell me that if we were to ever go out to eat something, it should be from the nearby restaurants so we don’t have to drive so far to get food. And so we’re not constantly eating ramen or microwave pizzas. Callum started picking up that habit, and Les was disgusted,” he explains.

Kyle says, “Your new friends sound cool. Especially that Les guy. He sounds smart.” Kenny told Stan and Kyle about Eric’s new friends when they came home. I remember feeling a stab of panic seeing the two sitting next to Eric during that call, but when he explained they were friends, I felt the panic leave me like a deflating balloon.

“Callum sounds hilarious,” Stan adds.

“He is,” Eric says. “He’s so stupid, but he’s also pretty smart when he wants to be, which isn’t often.”

“Sounds like you,” Kenny remarks, grinning.

Eric shoots him a glare.

Suddenly, all their eyes are on me. I sit up from my slumped position on Eric. “What? Did I miss somethin’?” I ask.

“No. You’ve just been quiet,” Stan says.

I sink back into Eric, my head on his shoulder. “Oh. Well, that’s nothin’ to worry about. I’m just real happy right now.”

The three nod, jumping back into conversation. Eric and I trade smiles, unable to not get lost in each other’s eyes. He kisses the spot under my ear, letting his lips linger.

At the apartment, Stan and Kyle retire to their bedrooms since they start early on Fridays. Kenny hovers outside his door across from mine, giving Eric and me knowing looks as we take off our shoes and jackets.

“Do us all a favor and try not to be too loud, okay?” he says with a taunting smirk. He disappears into his room.

Eric and I trade blushing gazes.

We go into my room. As soon as the door’s closed, Eric has me pinned against it, kissing and licking and biting my neck. I fumble with the lock on the doorknob, eventually getting it to turn. Eric moves from the left side of my neck to the right, to the middle, all while cupping my jaw and pressing his body against mine. It makes my knees jelly. I’ve wanted this for so long.

I get my hands to work, unbuttoning his jeans and dragging down the zipper. “Let me,” I whisper.

He pulls back, wide-eyed, letting me tug him to the bed and set his glasses on the desk. I sit on the floor in front of him, between his legs. I put my head on his knee and stare up at him. I trace circles on his thigh, watching as his breath escapes past his lips. He stares back down, his fingers trembling as he gets himself out of his jeans. He always gets like this when I want him this way. Ever since the first time we did this on Christmas when we were fifteen, he always gets kinda trembly.

I scoot closer, kissing the tip, already leaking. He grunts again, his head back. I lick him down like he did my neck before getting my mouth around him. He groans now, more strangled to keep quiet.

My favorite thing about this are the little praises Eric showers me with. When I do real good, he runs his fingers through my hair and breathes heavily and mutters things.

He’s like that now, breathing heavy and petting my hair. He whispers, “Yeah, Butters. Just like that. You’re so good. You’re doing so good. Just like that. Butters. God. More. Fuck. Yeah. Y-yeah.” His words fade off into quiet grunts and moans.

His hands move from my hair to my jaw, sliding his fingers over my skin. He gets touchy when we do this. I can’t stop it when my own hand leaves his thigh, trailing down to the unbearable heat between my legs. But Eric grabs my hands—both of them.

“No touching yourself,” he rasps. “I’ll help you with it.”

He keeps my wrists clamped in his hands as my head continues to bob. Then his fingers twist around my wrists, squeezing. He swears, “Oh, God. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. God, _Butters.”_ He cums in my mouth, and I swallow it down, licking up anything left.

He lets go of my wrists, watching me with dazed eyes as I lick my lips. He pulls me up onto the bed and kisses my neck harder. He gets me out of my clothes. He calls them “fucking annoying.”

He holds my hand as we’re skin against skin. The way he moves into me tells me how much he missed me and not just the moments like this in his bed. I cross my legs around his back. He huffs a breathless laugh into my neck. “So you want it like that?” he murmurs.

My eyes roll to the back of my head, a moan coming from my mouth louder than I want it to be. He goes deeper and harder and rougher and I love him so much. The bed starts hitting the wall, and dimly I wonder if our neighbors can hear it. I hope not.

We cum together, his teeth biting down on my shoulder, my nails digging into his back. He collapses on top of me, panting and sweaty and sticky. And I don’t mind it like I usually do. As he pulls out, I wrap my arms around his neck. He lays on top of me, his head tucked into the crook of my neck.

“I love you,” he whispers, his breath cooling the sweat on my chest.

“I love you too. So much,” I say into his hair.

We wake up the next morning an hour before my alarm goes off. We’re still in the same position we fell asleep in. Eric groans, shifting out of sleep. I sigh, stretching. My hands come down when he kisses the underside of my jaw, fingertips stroking my sides.

“You should shower before class,” he mumbles.

I sit us up, and I wince when I feel the dried up cum on our stomachs. “Yeah. That’s a good idea,” I say.

We run to the bathroom which is only a couple steps from my door. I start the shower, letting it warm. Eric pees, running his hand over his face and through his mussed hair. I stare at myself in the mirror above the sink, gawking at the pink and purple hickeys on my neck and shoulders. Back in high school, I would hide the hickeys in fear of someone pointing it out, but looking at them now, I wanna do the opposite. I wanna show them off and fight the grin that comes to my face when people comment about it.

Eric flushes the toilet, sticking his hand into the shower. “Still cold,” he says. He moves to stand behind me, his hands in my hips. The cold water rolls down his fingertips and onto my leg. He’s got hickeys too. He’d be the one to not bother hiding them in high school. I always found it ironic, considering he was the one who wanted our relationship to be secret at first. Well, I wanted it secret too, but not as much as him. But when we told people, Eric flaunted me and all the love bites I left on him.

There’s a knock at the door that makes Eric and me jump. “Hey, no shower sex. Other people have to use that bathroom,” Kenny says from the other side. I can hear the grin in his voice.

“Fuck off,” Eric retorts, cheeks rosy as he escorts me into the shower.

I don’t remember exactly when it became a thing for us to shower together after sex. But when we do, we don’t do anything dirty. It’s more the opposite as we innocently help each other get clean. Eric kisses me as I massage my fingers through his hair, water running down his face and plastering his soapy hair to his forehead.

I ask him, “What’d you miss the most about me while you were away?”

That dusty pink returns to his face, coloring the tips of his ears. “You know, um... everything. But... I guess I missed making you laugh the most.” He pauses to wash my hair. “What’d you miss about me?”

Embarrassed but knowing him asking the same was inevitable, I chuckle. “It’s kinda silly, but... your warmth. You’re always so warm, and my first night without you was scary ‘cause it was so cold without you in bed with me.”

He tilts my chin up to his, his kiss soft.

Back in my bedroom, he scrubs my towel over my hair. His hair’s frizzy from when he dried it while I was getting dressed. He tosses the towel by the door, smirking at me. He clucks his tongue, shaking his head. “My hickeys _and_ my shirt? I’m flattered, B-Butts,” he says.

I’ve paired one of his shirts with my jeans. It’s obvious the shirt doesn’t belong to me, being two sizes too big. “And your jacket too,” I add, grabbing his red windbreaker from his open luggage.

He shakes his head again, beaming.

Out in the living room, Kenny gives Eric and me a plate with two halves of a bagel on them. I sit on the couch with Eric, asking Kenny, “Did Stan and Kyle leave already?”

“Yep. Unlike you guys, they can’t sleep in.” His eyes linger on our necks. The corner of his mouth lifts. “Wild night?”

I look away, blushing. I take a bite of the bagel instead of replying.

“Shut up,” Eric groans.

Kenny has to leave five minutes later. After Eric and I finish eating, we put on our shoes.

“So you’re gonna take an Uber to South Park, right?” I ask. While we’re gonna be in class, he’s gonna visit Liane and Roger.

“Yeah. I’ll be back by lunchtime.”

Outside, we kiss each other goodbye without actually saying it. He gets in the Uber that pulls up onto the curb, and I walk down the street towards the school. As long as Eric’s near, everything’s right with the world.

 

For Thanksgiving, Eric and I go over to his place since I never got anything from my parents about it. I doubt they’d even want me over anyway. We haven’t talked since I ran away. After Dad drove away from Eric’s house that day, he never tried to contact me. Neither did Mom. I think they’d just accepted the fact that we’d never see each other again. And either way, Eric’s family has always felt more like family to me ever since we started dating.

Clyde and Bebe are also over for Thanksgiving. It feels good for all six of us to be sitting at one table, talking and laughing like we used to.

At our apartment in Boulder, Kenny and I are really the only ones who know how to cook. And since we’re on a tight budget, we can’t have too many fancy meals like this one in front of me. Liane promised she’ll let us take the leftovers since she and Roger won’t want them anyway.

Bebe recounts a story of how one of her professors tried to hit on her earlier in the year. It made her so uncomfortable that she dropped the class. She tells us it won’t affect her career path to becoming a doctor, since the class was an elective.

Clyde adds, “The first time she told me her professor was flirting with her, I was pissed and worried. I walked her to class the next day, imagining some gross old dude that resembled Gandalf in my mind for whatever reason. When we got there, I found out the guy was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He didn’t look too bad, but there was something about him that wasn’t normal, you know?”

“I think it was, like, his smile,” Bebe says. “It was totally gross. Like that slimy pedophile smile.”

My skin crawls. I’ve seen too many smiles like that in my childhood. The turkey goes down roughly when I swallow. Eric notices my shudder and puts his hand over mine on the table. He kisses my temple. I feel Mr. Kitty’s tail brush against my foot that I count as a reassurance as well. She’s laying at Eric’s feet under the table.

Liane gapes. “Did he try to touch you?” she asks.

Bebe shakes her head. “No, never. He wouldn’t ever get close to me, always three feet away, which probably made it, like, weirder.”

“So I told her to drop the class while she still could. And we haven’t had the problem since,” Clyde says. He and Bebe stare at each other, smiling.

Roger scrunches up his face in disgust. “Charlene had a professor like that in her first year. She dropped the class as well, but if she didn’t, I sometimes wonder what would’ve happened. It came out a few months after she dropped that the police found child pornography on his computer. He was arrested.”

Eric gags. “Okay, can we move onto a different subject now? I’m uncomfortable,” he says. He glances at me, knowing I feel the same way.

“Of course, sweetie,” Liane coos. “So, have you made any new friends?”

Eric starts telling his family about Les and Callum. Then he tells us about a party the two dragged him to. It was hosted by sorority girls, and as soon as one of them approached him thirty minutes in, Eric says he bolted.

“You didn’t tell me that,” I say. I brush his hair from his face with my fingers.

“That’s because I was saving it for this exact moment. Callum and Les gave me shit for it the next day, but they said they understood and respected my loyalty to you. They couldn’t fully understand my disinterest in females though.”

“Oh,” I say. I kiss his cheek.

“Do you have any stories, Butters?” Roger asks me.

“No. There’ve been a few parties and stuff, but I don’t ever feel like goin’. I’d rather stay home and talk with Eric,” I say.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of worry cross Eric’s face as I take a bite of mashed potatoes. The rest of the night’s filled with the clinking of silverware on plates and laughter. It’s not till we’re back at the apartment, Eric fallen asleep curled up around me, do I remember how his eyebrows pressed together, pausing the bite of turkey he was about to take to glance at me, his mouth twisted in a frown. But before I can think more of it, I fall asleep.

 

A thick blanket of snow covers the road and sidewalks and lawns and driveways. The morning air’s as icy as the ground. Eric and I are on his front lawn, making a snowman. He pats down the body, making sure the snow’s packed tightly. His cheeks and nose are red from the cold. Our breath fogs in the air. With two hands, he pushes the head together, patting the side where snow’s starting to crumble.

I roll the carrot over in my gloved hands. “Can I put on the nose now?” I ask him. The way my voice is muffled by my scarf reminds me of Kenny’s old parka. It was like knowing another language when he would wear it and talk. A language only us kids could understand.

“Yeah sure,” Eric says.

I stick the carrot right in the middle of the head as Eric adds twig arms to the body. I take the two buttons from my pocket, carefully pressing them into the snow. The snowman’s left eye’s blue. The right eye’s black. I chose the buttons randomly, but it’s funny how they resemble something like Eric’s eyes.

I feel Eric’s arms wrap around me from behind. I love behind hugs from him. Though his lips are cold, the kiss to my neck spreads warmth through my body.

The snowman’s pebble mouth is smiling. It’s wearing an old checkered scarf of Clyde’s and an old black beanie of Eric’s I’ve only ever seen him wear once: in elementary school.

The front door opens, and Liane in her robe pokes her head out and says, “Kids, time for presents.”

The way she refers to us as kids brings a wash of childhood memories over me. I remember being ten and playing with our friends in the snow. We had snowball fights and built a whole village of snowpeople. Then, when Eric and I were fifteen, we ran out to his backyard and collapsed in the snow, making snow angels and laughing despite the cold.

In the house, it’s so warm, instantly pushing away the cold clinging to me. Eric unzips our jackets, rubbing his lips over my nose. Liane takes our jackets from him, draping them over the back of the couch.

Bebe and Clyde are sat on the floor, legs folded in front of the Christmas tree. They’re in their pajamas, cradling mugs of hot cocoas. Eric and I sit next to them, and Roger hands us mugs of our own. The tree glows white with red and gold decorations against the morning sunlight.

Even though the amount of presents under the tree aren’t as dense as they were nine years ago, it still brings that whimsical feeling of wondering what the wrapped up boxes hold.

Mr. Kitty curls up next to Eric. He scratches her behind her ears. She mewls, nuzzling into his hand.

“Who wants to go first?” Liane asks, sitting on the coffee table next to Roger.

Me, Clyde, and Eric point to Bebe. “Lit,” she chirps.

That makes Clyde burst into laughter as he hands her her gift. Eric groans. “Look at that, Clyde. You’ve got Bebe talking like you now,” he says.

Clyde and Bebe both laugh.

Bebe gets a dress from Clyde. It’s pink and wispy. She explains that she’d been wanting it ever since she passed a dress store when her and Clyde go to the Cherry Creek mall. Eric and I got her a pair of heels that match perfectly with the dress. Liane and Roger got her this fancy looking rhinestone hair accessory.

Bebe says with a grin, “Hey, Clyde. I know what I’m wearing on our next date.” She looks to the rest of us. “Did you guys plan this out? Because all of these match really well.”

“We had no idea,” I tell her.

Clyde gets a new backpack from Bebe because she says his old one’s falling apart and a dinosaur taco holder that he already claims to love so much. His parents got him a pair of Nike shoes. Eric got him a watch, because lately, Clyde’s been into watches.

I get a waffle maker from Liane and Roger and a board game from Clyde and Bebe. From Eric, I get his white T-shirt that reads “Bad Boy” in black letters, and another hoodie of his. Whenever he comes over during breaks, he trades me his hoodies so I’ll constantly have his scent.

Eric’s family gives him hoodies. Ever since middle school, that’s always been the go-to gift for him. On Christmas when we were fifteen, Eric got that pink _In the name of love_ hoodie from Clyde. Clyde thought he’d hate it, being pink and all, but Eric loved it. He loves any hoodie.

I set my gift to him in his lap. He looks at me, wrapping his fingers around my wrists so he can kiss my fingertips. I say, “So remember how you gave me that photo album for my birthday?”

“Of course,” he says against my palm.

“Well, your gift’s kinda like that,” I say. “Kinda.”

He lets go of my hands to unwrap his gift. Liane gives him scissors to cut off the tape of the cardboard box. He takes out the orange reel viewer from the box, along with the five sleeves. Eric looks up at me, suspicious. I grin. He takes a reel from the sleeve and puts it into the viewer. He holds it up to his eyes, flipping through it. As he does, I lay my head in his lap, listening to the sound of the images changing in the reel viewer.

Hands rest in my hair, and I look up at Eric smiling softly down at me. “I love it, Butters,” he says, kissing my ear.

“Can I see?” Clyde asks.

Eric gives him the reel viewer. As he looks through it, Eric says to me, “I wish I’d been creative enough to put a bunch of our pictures into one of those.”

“No, I love the album just the way it is. I was lookin’ on Google for ideas that involved pictures but wasn’t just a photo album, and that came up. Luckily, there was a website that made customizable reel viewers, so I made one for you,” I explain.

“That’s pretty cool,” Eric says. “I love it so fucking much.”

Clyde passes the viewer to Bebe, who _Aww_ s with ever turn of the image. “Clyde, you make me one of these,” she says.

Clyde winces. “Maybe as a wedding gift, cool beans.”

Everyone laughs at that, even Bebe as she gives Eric back the viewer. He swaps out the reel for another, and I continue to lay in his lap with my eyes closed as he looks through them all.

 

There are five seconds to midnight, and everyone at Token’s childhood home watches the TV as we count down. When the clock hits one, there are cheers and the sounds of noisemakers, but Eric grabs me by my hips and slams his lips to mine. I wrap my arms around his neck, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.

It ends too soon, and we go around the living room, hugging our friends and telling them Happy New Year. Craig and Tweek are here for holiday break. Their skin’s a bit tanner than it used to be from the California sun, their hair lighter.

Wendy pointedly avoids Stan and Kyle huddled up together on the couch. She talks to Red and Kevin Stoley, but I see how her eyes jealously dart to Stan and Kyle every once in awhile. Heidi, in opposite, has no problem at all with catching up with Kyle and his boyfriend.

When Stan and Kyle told us they were dating, Eric shockingly had nothing to say about it. Later that night though, he told me he’d known it was inevitable from the start.

To me, the most interesting couple here in this living room’s Token and Nichole. So far, they’re the only married couple out of us all. I think everyone anticipates Clyde and Bebe or Craig and Tweek to tie the knot next.

From under Jimmy’s arm, Annie asks Token and Nichole, “Are you planning on having kids?”

Token and Nichole trade a look. “When we’re out of college, totally,” she says.

Eric sits in an armchair, pulling me into his lap.

“How many?” Bebe asks.

“Three,” Token says.

“Aww, that’s so cute!” Heidi gushes.

“I want three too,” Red says, nudging Kevin. He blushes.

The only girl who doesn’t add her input about Token and Nichole’s future together is Wendy. She sits on the floor by the coffee table, her lips sealed. Aside from Heidi, she’s the only single one in her friend group, and Heidi hardly counts, considering how well she’s taking being single. She even shoots Heidi a couple glares when she starts gushing about how cute Kyle and Stan are. Heidi’s happy for them. Wendy isn’t.

Eric whispers about how stuck-up and two faced Wendy is in my ear. I let him, even though I’d rather it if he didn’t start off the new year by talking shit. I only let him ‘cause he runs his hands over my body possessively while he talks. He’d probably do it even if I _did_ stop him, but it’s more fun to have his voice in my ear as he does.

 

Eric flies in on Thursday and is staying until Monday night. I remember how me and my classmates would always be looking forward to Martin Luther King Jr. day because we get a day off school. Now, getting that day off school doesn’t come close in comparison to the four days I get with Eric until spring break in March. We’re sitting on the couch, me cradling Eric in my arms.

When Eric was within reception range touching down from his flight, he got a missed call and couple texts from his mom that Mr. Kitty had died last night. Eric loved Mr. Kitty. He’d had the cat since kindergarten.

I pet his hair, his head tucked under my chin. “She lived a good, long life, Eric. She loved you very much, just as you loved her,” I mumble to him.

He’s not crying, but he’s not saying anything either. He just runs his hand up and down my arm absentmindedly.

Stan adds, “Yeah, dude. She was an amazing cat.”

“Yeah. Even if she did scratch me every time I tried to pet her,” Kyle says.

Eric chuckles lightly at that. “I remember being so proud of her for it,” he mumbles.

“Of course you were,” Kyle sighs.

Kenny says, “She really only hated you, Kyle. She loved me and Stan and Leo.”

“She takes after her owner then.”

That makes Eric laugh.

There’s a pause of silence. Eric rests his hand on my hip under my shirt, skimming his thumb over my skin. “I wish I could’ve been there,” he says finally.

“Oh, Eric,” I whisper, kissing his forehead.

We all have pets to miss. Stan has Sparky at home, who he visits every weekend. He always sends videos of him opening the front door to Sparky jumping up on him and licking at his hand happily. Kyle never really had any pets, but he does care a lot about Sparky too. I miss my hamsters all the time. They’d died during senior year. Kenny had a variety of pets. He had stray cats that roamed his neighborhood, all of them he’d named. He had an opossum and a few rats he considered pets.

But maybe it’s better to go into college without pets to take care of. Pets require responsibility and time, which was what Stan’s mom told him when he’d begged to have Sparky come live with us. The complex doesn’t allow pets, but that didn’t stop Stan. He was denied anyway.

Eric sighs, shifting closer against my neck. He nuzzles his nose into my skin, lightly kissing me. He plays with my hands as Kenny turns on the TV, keeping the volume low.

 

Eric’s spring break is two weeks before mine, at the beginning of the month. So like we did with fall break, he stays at the apartment or takes an Uber to South Park while we’re in class. Once I’m out of class, I spend the rest of the day with him, as well as my nights.

We quickly learned that having sex after being away from each other for weeks or even months make it better. Maybe it’s all the pent up yearning and pining that’s finally able to be released onto each other. Or maybe it’s because we’re so tired of pretending to have sex over the phone with words and our own hands.

For my spring break, Eric suggests I fly to Philadelphia so I can see his dorm in person and meet Les and Callum. He sounded so excited talking about it, and since I got a job at the end of October thanks to Eric, I’m able to pay for my ticket. Eric insists I let him pay for me, and I insist he let me pay for myself. His parents pay for his plane tickets, but I doubt my parents would be very happy to hear from me after eight-ish months of not speaking to them, only to ask them to pay for a plane ticket to see my boyfriend they never really liked.

And since I’m curious about Eric’s life in Philadelphia, and because I wanna spend as much time with him as I can, I agreed. And we even came to the conclusion that we’d each pay half for my ticket.

It’s strange—being on the opposite side of things when I come running down the gate and into Eric’s waiting arms. He lifts me off my feet when he hugs me, showering me in kisses. I feel his pounding heart against my chest. When we’ve calmed down enough, he lowers me back to my feet. He keeps his arm around me as he gestures to Les and Callum sitting in chairs, watching us.

“Butters, these idiots are Les and Callum. Idiots, this is Butters,” Eric says.

Les and Callum get to their feet, walking over to us. Both of them are pretty tall. I dunno how tall I imagined them to be, but I guess not much taller than me and Eric. Les is closer in height to us, but Callum’s probably about Kyle’s height, maybe Craig’s.

“His eyes are even lighter blue than you’ve been saying, Cartman,” Les says, shaking my hand. “Cool scar.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“He’s cuter in person too,” Callum says, shaking my other hand. He pinches my cheek in a very grandmotherly fashion. Or what I imagine to be grandmotherly, since my grandma wasn’t ever really nice to me.

“What did I say about calling my boyfriend cute, you fucking idiot?” Eric snaps, slapping Callum’s hand away.

Callum shrugs. “And what did I say about me being straight and not coming for your man?” To me, he says, “I have a girlfriend, so you don’t gotta worry.” His eyes are a greenish hazel, lit up by a twinkle akin to the one in Kenny’s eyes.

Les and Callum ask me questions as we walk to the baggage claim to pick up my luggage. They ask how Eric and I met, what it’s like dating someone for five years, what my favorite thing about him is. It’s different from when people at home asked me _why_ I was dating Eric, what I _saw_ in him, if I was crazy for even considering dating _him._ But it’s a good different.

I learn that Callum was accepted into UPenn because he was the “Steph Curry” of his high school’s basketball team. He’s majoring in accounting. He’s from California. His mom’s black, his dad’s white. He says a lot of girls were after him during middle and high school because they all wanted a light skin word-I-can’t-say like him. He says that finding a bitch in college posed as a tougher challenge than he’d originally thought. But he eventually found a girl, though Les and Eric describe her as psycho.

“She’s not a psycho, guys. You don’t see her when it’s just the two of us,” Callum protests.

Eric rolls his eyes. “When you come back from hanging out with her, you’re always in a bad mood, so I think it’s safe to say we _do_ know what she’s like when it’s just you two,” he says.

When people would question my relationship with Eric, I’d tell them they didn’t get it because they didn’t see the way he acted when he was only around me. He’s always been good to me when it’s just us, and he’d only put up a front for other people so they wouldn’t judge him.

It doesn't sound the same for Callum and his girlfriend.

Les explains he’s from Utah. When he told me, I couldn't help but ask if he was Mormon. Eric had burst out laughing. Les says he isn’t Mormon, but atheist.

Callum snorts when Les tells me this. “It must be a sad life, thinking there’s no higher power up there.”

Les says, “No. It’s not sad. It’s just that I don’t believe there’s a magic man living in the clouds.”

I wince, not necessarily liking that description of God. Eric’s had his few run-ins with God, none of them good, but he still believes in Him. Well, it’s kinda inevitable, considering the run-ins.

We get into Les’s car parked on the curb after retrieving my luggage. “I have family that live here in Philly. My parents are from here, but wanted to move to Utah for whatever reason. My grandparents live only a few minutes from the school,” Les says.

“Yeah!” Callum says. “We go over on Wednesdays. They cook for us and have us take home leftovers after. My grandparents died when my dad was twenty, and my mom’s parents died when I was five, so I never really grew up with any grandparents. Les’s grandparents make up for it though.”

I take Eric’s hand from my thigh and wrap it around my shoulders. His grandma died when we were in fourth grade. Cartmanland was fun while it lasted.

“What’re you majoring in?” I ask Les.

“Computer sciences.”

“Me too!” I exclaim.

“Yeah? Why’d you decide to study it? I went into it because I’ve always loved coding, and all that dumb shit,” he says.

I say, “I’ve always been told I’m good with computers and stuff. My friends’d usually go to me or my friend Kyle for tech help.”

“Except they’d go to you more often because you have more patience than Kyle does,” Eric adds.

“That too.”

At the ground floor of Eric’s dorm, I’m checked in, given a visitor’s pass that Eric says we’ll renew after the three days are up. The lady at the desk explains that there are no visitors between the hours of two and six a.m. The rule had me concerned the most when Eric suggested I come over to spend spring break with him because where would I stay if there could be no visitors? Eric told me not to worry, that he’d made friends with one of the nearby hotel managers who’ll let us stay there for fifty dollars a night in contrast to the couple hundred a night.

On their floor, Callum points to the door next to Eric’s door. “That’s my dorm,” Callum says. “Donnie’s such a Chad. I hate him. He always has his prissy blonde girlfriends over when I’m trying to study, always making out on his bed, sometimes going further than that. It’s disgusting.”

Eric’s dorm is small, but it’s spacious enough for two people. There’s a couch and a TV near the window when we walk in, and the beds against the opposite wall. There’s a desk between the two. I know which one’s Eric’s bed when I see it. It’s the unmade one with four hoodies mixed up in the blankets. That, and I can see one of my T-shirts shoved under one of the pillows. I walk over, taking my shirt from its hiding place, turning to Eric with a grin.

“You sleep with my shirt?” I ask.

He blushes. “You sleep with my hoodies and shirts and pillow,” he says defensively.

I leave the shirt on his bed, wrapping my arms around his middle. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing. I’m glad you sleep with it,” I tell him.

Eric’s phone pings. He checks it and tells me, “Uber’s here.” He picks up two backpacks, putting one on each shoulder. To Les and Callum on the couch watching what sounds like some sport, he says, “We’re going.”

Callum and Les mutter a goodbye, only for Callum to start shouting at the TV because of a call the referee makes.

I grab my luggage with one hand and Eric’s hand with the other as he takes me back out to the front of the dorm building to where the Uber’s waiting. In the car, I ask Eric, “Do you take Ubers a lot? ‘Cause it seems like you do.”

He shrugs. “I don’t want to waste my money on buying a car. I need to save up.”

“True.”

“And we could’ve walked to the hotel, but I didn’t want you to have to drag around your luggage.”

Two minutes later, we’re at the hotel. The room’s simple. There’s a bed, a TV, a kitchenette, bathroom, and a balcony that overlooks the school.

Eric puts down his backpacks and helps me out of mine. “Lots of the people who go to UPenn come here to, like, have parties or whatever,” he says.

“Is this where that sorority party was?” I ask.

He laughs. “Yeah, exactly. I ran home and I called you even though you were sleeping, remember?”

“Of course I do. I thought you were in trouble ‘cause you sounded all panicky,” I say. “And you get in trouble a lot, so you had me worried.” I thump a fist against his chest.

He smooths down my hair, smiling faintly. “Sorry about that.”

“I remember Kenny tellin’ me once when we were thirteen or fourteen that your middle name’s Trouble, which couldn’t be more true,” I say.

He smiles, pressing his nose to mine, his eyelids droopy. He takes off my jacket, and I let him pin me to the bed, laughing as he kisses my neck. I tilt my head back so he can kiss more, so he can have space to leave more hickeys I can show off when I have to go back home.

With no friends around to hear us, Eric encourages me to be as loud as I want.

“I don’t give a shit about the strangers in the other rooms,” he grunts. “So scream. I know you want to.” He leans down to press a wet kiss to my mouth.

And he’s right. I haven’t been able to be loud since summer when Eric and I’d be alone in his room, using the aloneness to shout each other’s names without worrying that anyone might hear us.

Instead of falling asleep like we usually do after, Eric leaves my arms to go into the bathroom. There’s a sliver of light coming from the closed door, the muffled sound of running water. He comes back out, tiptoeing around the window to close the curtains.

“Do you think people could see us when we were...?” I ask, my voice thick with exhaustion.

Eric peeks his head out past the curtains. “Nah. We’re too high up.”

“We’re on the fourth floor,” I say.

“Exactly.” As he comes over to me, I raise my arms, having him lift me onto him. He carries me into the bathroom. He lowers us both into the bathtub still filling up.

There are bubbles smelling like vanilla. I lay my head on my arms over the side of the bath, smiling at Eric in front of me. He takes a handful of bubbles, blowing them in my face. I giggle, some falling to the rest, some landing on my face. He runs a wet hand down my face, stroking my cheek.

“C’mere,” he murmurs.

I scoot over to him, between his legs, my back against his chest. The feeling of him massaging his fingers through my hair makes me feel sleepy. The way his fingers trail down my skin tickles. I think I end up falling asleep like that, wading in warm bubbly water against Eric’s chest, his heart beating against the back of my shoulder. There are points where I hear the gentle slosh of water, feel being dried off with a warm towel, helped into a pair of underwear, and tucked into bed. I’m aware of Eric warm at my back, his arm around my waist, the heat and weight of it comforting. But most of all, I’m aware of his lips on the back of my ear as he drifts off to sleep with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I do recall now the smell of the rain  
> Fresh on the pavement  
> I ran off the plane  
> That July 9th  
> The beat of your heart  
> It jumps through your shirt  
> I can still feel your arms..."  
> -Last Kiss


	19. Kenny McCormick

**Summer.**

Originally, Shelly wanted a wedding by the beach with the ocean lapping slowly at the sand, and the sound of waves crashing onto the shore as background noises as the minister speaks the binding words over her and Kevin. But since they only graduated this May and it’s August, they have student loans to pay where they need to be paid. They’d rather not have a big fancy wedding on some LA beach than be in debt their whole lives.

So they decided to keep it close to home, at the Denver Botanic Gardens. There’s still water nearby, but it doesn’t serve as background noise of the crash of waves.

We’re outside, facing Kev and Shelly at the front of it all. Most of the guests are sitting, but I’m standing next to sniffling Stan. He's the same as his dad, who was crying while walking Shelly down the aisle. I’m Kevin’s best man, and Stan’s one of the groomsmen. Across from us, Karen carefully observes her surroundings, careful to not turn her head to show the guests she’s not paying attention. She’s never looked more grown up with her dirty blonde hair falling on her shoulders in curls, her eyelids sparkly with some type of eyeshadow Tricia put on her. Like the other bridesmaids, she’s in a peachy pink chiffon gown. The only thing I don’t like about the dress is the sweetheart top, but then again, all of the bridesmaids’ dresses have that top. Karen’s going to be a junior when school starts for them in two weeks. It freaks me out because I still remember my junior year like it was yesterday.

Karen meets my eye and frowns at me in mock disapproval, as if saying _How dare you not pay attention to our oldest brother’s wedding._

Subtly so only she can see it, I roll my eyes at her, and the corner of her mouth lifts in a smile. I refocus on Kevin and Shelly.

They’re both beaming at each other as the minister drones on. To be honest, I don’t think they’re listening either, too lost in each other’s eyes, too lost in the fact that they’re going to be married once this minister guy says the words.

I’m glad it’s not too hot today. Like all the other guys, I’m in a suit. It would be extremely bad if I were to sweat through the suit on my brother’s wedding.

My legs start to get tired from standing for what feels like hours. Kev and Shelly do the unity tradition of lighting candles. And then finally, the minister says, “Will the bride repeat after me: I, Shelly Marsh, take you Kevin McCormick, to be my husband…”

In a voice loud enough for the whole audience to hear, Shelly recites, “I, Shelly Marsh, take you Kevin McCormick, to be my husband…”

“To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse…”

“To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse…”

“For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish…”

Shelly starts blinking rapidly, trying to contain a smile. Her voice loses some of its projection as she echoes, “For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish…”

“From this day forward until death do us part.”

Shelly exhales, lifting one of her hands from Kevin’s to dab at her eye with the heel of her palm. She puts her hand back in his. “From this day forward until death do us part,” she finishes.

I move to applaud, but then the minister turns to Kevin and says, “Will the groom repeat after me: I, Kevin McCormick, take you Shelly Marsh, to be my wife…”

Kevin says with a tremor in his voice, “I, Kevin McCormick, take you Shelly Marsh, to be my wife…”

The minister has him say the same thing as Shelly, except he loses his composure quicker, having to pause and clear his throat. Shelly’s thumb moves across the back of his hand, smiling up at him in silent encouragement. He gets through it, and my hands twitch to come together to clap, but the audience stays quiet.

The minister says, “You have for each other special rings—symbols that love is the most precious element in your life together. The ring has no beginning and no ending, which symbolizes that the love between you will never cease. You place these rings upon each others’ fingers as a visible sign of your vows this day, which will make you husband and wife.”

As he speaks, I hand Kevin his ring to Shelly, and Shelly’s maid of honor does the same for her.

Kevin slides the ring over her finger, saying, “I give you this ring, a symbol of my love, as I give to you, all that I am, and accept from you, all that you are.”

Shelly puts her ring over Kevin’s finger. “I give you this ring, a symbol of my love, as I give to you, all that I am, and accept from you, all that you are.”

The minister projects his voice and says, “And now, by the power vested in me by the State of Colorado, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Kev and Shelly lean forward, sharing a short, sweet peck.

Finally, the minister concludes, “Friends and family, to conclude this ceremony, will the designated witnesses please come forward and sign their names to the certificate of marriage.”

Me and Shelly’s maid of honor step up. Quiet background music plays as Kevin and Shelly turn and take up pens, signing the certificate. Me and the maid of honor sign our names as well.

The rest is a blur after Kevin and Shelly walk down the aisle together. Me and Stan along with the rest of our family take wedding pictures with Kev and Shelly. Then we end up inside one of the greenhouses where the reception is, leaving Kevin and Shelly behind so they can take pictures together.

There are long, cloth covered tables with names on tents set on plates. Stan and I share the same table, close to the bride and groom’s table. Shelly’s a smart girl, and it doesn’t surprise me that once everyone is seated, the seating arrangements are strategic and pretty perfect.

Karen’s to my right, with Firkle next to her. In front of them is Ike and Tricia. Kyle’s next to Stan at my left. Cartman and Leo are next to each other in front of me and Stan. Our parents are a bit further down the table, but not so far that they can’t see the bride and groom at their own table at the head of ours.

Kevin and Shelly show up not long after, sitting in their chairs, beaming.

“Hey, guys,” Shelly exclaims, waving down at us. She’s taken off her veil. I had to hold in my laughter when Kevin lifted it because he hiccuped a sob because he’s so happy.

We wave back.

Karen tells Kevin and Shelly, “I almost cried, but I succeeding in not doing so. Stan cried though.”

They laugh, and they laugh harder at Stan’s offended “Hey!”

I look at him, shrugging. “We’re brothers-in-law now, dude. Get used to it.”

I grin wider when his eyes grow to the size of plates like he’s just remembered we’re related now. “Oh yeah,” he breathes. He squeezes my wrist. “Dude, we’re brothers now!”

“Awesome, huh?”

“Yes!”

Cartman adds, “And then Stan and Kyle get married, and you’ll be even _more_ related.”

Kyle and Stan flush. They’ve only been dating for eight months.

Tricia gasps. Her strawberry blonde hair is done in the same fashion as Karen’s. If I didn’t know her, I would think she was my age. Karen looks older, but her face still holds some childlikeness. You can tell she’s a teenager. It’s not like that with Tricia. The structure of her face makes her look twenty. Her curves are more pronounced than Karen’s too, with more of an hourglass shape. Despite her hair being light, her skin is tanned by the sun, bringing out the paleness of her eyes. The whole Tucker family is good-looking in a god-like way. Maybe it has to do with the Peruvian decent thing.

Either way, the maturity of Tricia’s looks is kind of freaky and has me constantly worrying for her. I think it has Ike worried too, especially during the summer when she walks down the street in only shorts and a bikini top.

Tricia’s pale green eyes are wide. “Wait. Think about that. This all starts with Kevin and Shelly, right? So that makes Stan, Kenny, and Karen in-laws. So let’s say Stan and Kyle do get married. That makes Kenny and Kyle related through his and Stan’s marriage, and Kenny and Stan through Kevin and Shelly’s marriage. Since Stan and Kyle are hypothetically married, that puts Ike and Karen on the same family tree. So then Kenny gets married to whoever that may be. Karen marries Firkle. I marry Ike.”

At the same time, Tricia and Karen look at each other and gasp. Karen exclaims, “Oh my gosh, we’d be sisters!” They stand from their seats to high five each other.

Leo’s brows are presses together, his jaw hanging open. “I—I’m lost,” he says.

Everyone else makes noises of agreement.

“Yeah, seriously. What just happened?” Cartman says.

“It’s not that complicated, even if it sounds that way,” Ike says. “Here, if we draw it out…” He takes his napkin and a pen Kevin tosses him. “Thanks. So look—”

Once he has it laid out on the table, I understand that we’d pretty much all be related except for Cartman and Leo. Cartman claims he’s glad he won’t be having to see us at Thanksgiving dinners. He’s a liar, but a good one.

Kevin and Shelly leave their table and have their first dance. When that ends, Shelly’s dad welcomes the guests. We eat after that, which is good because I’m starving. An hour later, Shelly’s parents, Stan, me, and Karen go up to recount all the good times we had with Kevin and Shelly, making them cry in the process. Shelly’s maid of honor does the same, talking about the good times her and Shelly shared in high school and college. She talks about how she hopes to raise their kids together in the same neighborhood, and hey, maybe if one of them have a boy and the other a girl, maybe they’ll fall in love and get married too.

Then there’s the father-daughter dance, Randy crying hard again and Shelly assuring him it's going to be okay. Then Kev and Mom go up to dance. I was shocked to find out he’d invited our parents in the first place. But then again, in church, we were always taught to forgive, and I guess Kevin’s just a bit better at forgiving than I am. Stan and Shelly share a dance, and Stan’s not too different from his dad, crying as Shelly leads him around the dance floor. Kevin dances with Karen, and I read her lips when she tells him she’s proud of him. I dance with Shelly as Kevin dances with Stan. The audience laughs a little at Stan and Kevin’s arrangement.

“I don’t know how you did it, Shelly, but you really turned my brother’s life around, and indirectly, mine and Karen’s. And I know I already said this when I was making that big speech about you and Kev, but I’m really glad someone like you came into his life. He’s lucky to have you, and we’re lucky to have you as our sister-in-law,” I tell her.

“Aww,” Shelly says. Her blue eyes are watery again. She blinks hard. “God, it’s a good thing I wore waterproof mascara and eyeliner. I haven’t done this much crying since middle school.”

I laugh before wincing. “Oof,” I mutter.

She laughs too, shrugging a shoulder. “It’s cool.”

“I like your dress, by the way,” I say. It’s a traditional white, the bodice lacy and also sweetheart, the skirt chiffon like the bridesmaids, except Shelly’s has more volume to it.

“Thanks. My dad didn’t like it at first, saying it was too showy.” She rolls her eyes. “And I was like, really Dad? Just because it’s sleeveless? I saw some dresses that were a lot more showy than this.”

I laugh again.

We trade partners, and I go to Kevin and Karen goes to Shelly. Stan goes straight into Kyle’s arms.

To Kevin, I say, “I’m proud of you, big bro. You done good. So far the best out of us all.” I reach up to pat his hair, recently cut. He and Karen both have dirty blonde hair. I, for some reason, was born with hair just a bit more honey-ish than theirs.

He snorts. “If only. Karen’s gonna do the best out of us all. And you’ve already done better than me, you know that?”

I shake my head. “Nah. If it weren’t for you, Karen and I probably never would’ve seen the point of going onto college if we’d just end up like our parents. But you showed us that we don’t have to be like them. You set an example for us. I mean, look at you. You’re graduated from college, about to start training to be a cop, you have a nice apartment with your new _wife._ You got the life, Kev,” I say.

He looks at me the way he used to when he knew I was holding something back, trying to tiptoe my way around it. His lids are narrowed over his violet McCormick eyes. “I knew you were still going to her,” he says.

“Who?” I ask. My heart starts racing, knowing exactly who he’s referencing, but I don’t let it show.

“Henrietta. Kenny, what’s going on between you two? I thought you broke up. Are you back together now?” he asks.

Hurriedly, I say, “Oh, no. We’re not together anymore—”

Then the DJ invites everyone to come onto the dance floor, and some people get up from their seats and start flooding onto the dance floor.

“Welp, that’s my cue to leave you to your new bride. Gotta go.” I start walking away, but he catches my wrist.

He gives me a hard look that I can only describe as _Good luck._ Then he lets me go.

The look leaves me shaken for the rest of the night, burning into the back of my mind. What did it mean? Why did he look at me that way? Does he know something I don’t?

I dance with Karen, but most of the night, I’m alone, watching everyone dance with their girlfriend or boyfriend. Even Karen’s got Firkle to lead in silly spins. It makes me wish Henrietta were here.

We have dessert a couple hours later. The wedding cake is huge, and it looks like Kevin and Shelly will have leftovers for a month. So they encourage their guests to have as many slices as they please, and to take some home. Cartman takes a takeout box of cake, and I watch as Shelly hugs him tight. They’ve always had a special bond since that time in third grade when she babysat him during the meteor shower. But then again, mine and my friends’ siblings have always taken a liking to him.

Before I used to not get it. But now, I understand it. Cartman’s the type of person who wants to have fun no matter what. Maybe that’s not the best life lesson, but it taught our siblings to enjoy their lives. That’s always kind of been his thing. Have fun no matter what.

Back at home after the wedding, my friends and I go back to our apartment. Since it’s summer, Cartman’s been staying with Leo. It’s nice to have all five of us in one room for an extended amount of time again. But once September starts, he’ll be gone again. And Leo will be back to hiding himself away in his room.

It’s two in the morning. The apartment is quiet as my friends sleep peacefully with their arms around the person they love. Cartman and Leo have always had each other, and now Stan and Kyle. I’m the only one without someone to warm my bed.

I find myself silently putting my shoes on at the front door. Then I’m waiting at the bus stop in the middle of the night, the still air warm. I’m alone on the bus when it pulls up a few minutes later. Just me and the empty seats. Suddenly, I’m going through the keys I have on my key ring, sliding the right one into the lock. And then I’m crawling into a bed, arms wrapping around me instantly.

Henrietta kisses me, soft with sleep.

We don’t say anything about it as she falls back asleep and I finally feel tired enough to drift off. And she doesn’t say anything about it when I leave her embrace after we've left each other lusty and exhausted. My friends don’t say anything about it when I come home in the afternoon, my hair messy and my clothes rumpled. We don’t say anything about it at all.


	20. Butters Stotch

**College, sophomore year.**

You’d think I’d’ve gotten used to waiting for Eric’s FaceTime calls. But even after a year, I haven’t. A shot of anxiety and a jolt of anticipation still runs through me as I sit in front of my laptop screen, waiting for the familiar chime. I hum to myself to calm me down, finding it does nothing. It’s a Friday in October at 5:01 p.m. In Philadelphia, it’s 7:01 p.m. Eric’s probably just gotten home from work. Unlike him, I don’t work on Fridays, so usually, I sit in my room waiting. Waiting for the chime. Waiting for his face to pop up on my screen. Waiting for his smile, his voice, his laugh.

It’s only been two weeks since he came down for fall break, but I already miss him so much. Those four days aren’t enough. They aren’t enough to make up for the weeks upon weeks of being without him. He was still here for our sixth anniversary. Six years we’ve been together, and it’s crazy to think about.

Finally, I hear that chime, and I answer the call immediately. “Hiya, Eric!” I say, beaming.

But he’s not. He’s frowning, looking down at his keyboard.

I deflate, sinking back into the headboard of my bed. “What’s wrong?” I ask. He’s never answered a call like this. He’s always answered with a faint smile, or a dopey in love look on his face. Never with a frown.

“B-Butts?” he asks, his voice cracking. “What do you do when I’m not calling or texting you?”

I say, “Wait for you to call or text me.”

He meets my eye, and the first thing I notice is the lack of light. The fire in his eyes is gone, extinguished by gallons of water all at once, leaving only hazy smoke. It catches me off guard, throws me off balance, sends my world spinning.

“Are you having fun in school?” he says.

“W-well, it’s all real boring right now, but that’s okay,” I say, my voice going lackluster, matching his strained tone.

The corner of his mouth twitches, his expression growing guilty. “Have you gone to any events? Like, parties or something?”

A stab of cold shoots through me at that look. “No, I haven’t. So I can always be around when you call me. So I can have every moment I can with you. P-parties aren’t worth a missed call,” I say. “Stan, Kyle, and Kenny are actually at a Halloween party right now… But I didn’t wanna go. I didn’t want to miss your call,” I say, my voice fading.

Eric blinks hard. He clears his throat. He sits up straighter. He’s sitting on his couch. Behind his head is the window, overlooking the city. I can see myself on his screen in the reflection of the glass. “Butters, it’s okay to miss a few calls. I—I mean, we can always just call in the morning. Parties and events like that only happen so often,” he says.

My eyebrows furrow. “What’s this all about, Eric? What’s with all these questions?”

“Is school fun at least? Are you enjoying it? Are you meeting new people?” he says, his voice just above a whisper.

“School doesn’t gotta be fun. I can have fun when you come back. And who needs new people when I got you? I’ll enjoy life when you’re back with me again,” I say.

Eric shakes his head, breathing in sharply. “Kenny told me, Butters, about how you don’t leave your room when I’m gone. You isolate yourself, only coming out for food and the bathroom. You don’t even go with them when they go out to eat. You tell them to bring you back something just so you can stay there… waiting for me… I’m not worth it, Butters,” he says.

“N-not worth what?” My voice takes on a terrible tremble.

He waves a hand, a sharp movement. “I’m not worth throwing away the best four years of your life! That’s what college is supposed to _be,_ B-Butts. You’re not supposed to spend it locked up in a room like a damsel in distress, waiting for her prince charming to come save her after four years. I—I’m holding you back.”

I blink. “I—I don’t understand,” I croak.

Eric runs his hands through his hair. And I realize his eyes are red. It makes my throat burn, my body tense. “Every break I came back, you’d be so happy to see me. You’d come running up to me, and you’d hold me like I’d been the only thing you’d been waiting for. Looking forward to. At first, it felt so good to know you’d been thinking about me too, but then it happened every time. I realized it wasn’t a good thing. It made me feel guilty that I was holding you back from all the stuff you’re supposed to experience in college. It made me feel guilty because it made me realize how much time you spend thinking about me. And I think about you too, but—but I still go out and go to parties and make new friends. I’ve been holding you back from that. I already did it all last year. And it makes me feel like a dick. I don’t want to repeat that this year.”

And then he says it. He says the words I’ve been feeling hovering in the air from the time I answered the call. He says, “Butters… I think we should break up.”

And just like that, the water that extinguished the fire in his eyes is flooding my room, rising with unnatural speed, up my bed, up my arms, until it engulfs my whole body. I can’t breathe. Every time I try, water fills my lungs and chokes me. My eyes start to leak, adding to the ocean of cold and dread surrounding me.

“Butters,” he begs, “don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” His voice cracks, and his arms are extended as he’s holding his laptop like he can reach through the screen and touch my face. But he can’t. He’s a three hour flight away, two hours ahead in time.

The screen in front of me’s murky. Eric’s image is blurry. He begs me not to cry, despite the tears in his own eyes. But that’s all I can do. Sit there and sob so hard it wracks my entire body, hurting my ribs and leaving me shaking.

Eric’s cracked voice is in my ears, repeating over and over, “Butters, Butters, look at me. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

But he’s crying. Just as hard as me.

“E-Eric, please,” I struggle out, my voice an ugly gurgle. “Please don’t do this. I—I can balance it out. I promise. Just please—Eric. Six years. Don’t do this to us.”

“I have to.” His voice is hoarse. “I’m not good for you. I thought I was. I thought I’d gotten better. I didn’t. I’m sorry, Butters.”

I break down further, wailing and screaming. “What about our promises?” I demand. “Don’t, Eric. Don’t. Please. Please don’t do this.”

“I have to, I _have_ to,” he says. “It’s for the best. You’re better off without me. I should’ve known. I should’ve—Butters, please. Can’t you see? Can’t you see that all I’ve ever done is hold you back? All you’ve ever done is bring me forward and make me better. But what have I done for you? How have I repaid you for everything you’ve done for me?”

“You’ve done everything for me! You gave me a home when I had nowhere else to go. You held me when no one else would. You repaid me by loving me for who I am. You can’t do this. You’re everything to me. I’m nothing without you! No one knows me like you do! You’ve never done anything that could harm me. You’re the only one who gets it. The only one—” My throat closes up on itself, the water coming above my head again.

“You see? You say I haven’t done anything bad, but look at what you’re saying! You’re completely dependent on me. I’ve made you dependant. I knew it, back when we were fourteen. I knew I’d mess you up—”

“You didn’t mess me up!” I scream. “You did the opposite. I was repressed before. Held down to be silenced. You were the one who got me to speak. You’re the one who taught me to talk back, to stand up for myself. I’m _strong_ because of you. Eric, please, _please—”_

He sobs, “I have to do this. I’m sorry, Butters. I don’t want to. But it’ll be good for you. You’ll see. One day. I know it hurts, trust me, _it hurts._ But it’s for the best. You know it. You know it’s true. I’m sorry, Butters—”

“No. No, Eric. No, please, don’t do this.” I grip my screen, my movements sluggish and slow. I hang my head, suddenly too heavy to hold up. I squeeze out my tears, watching them fall onto the keys. “Don’t. Please, don’t—”

My laptop beeps three times. I look up to my desktop. The call’s ended. He hung up. For a second, I just sit there completely frozen, my mouth agape in disbelief. But it slowly comes back to me like waves pushing the truth onto my shore. Shaking, I fall onto my side, the cry of my sobs shredding my throat. My hands are balled into weak fists. I’m curled into fetal position. And I let the water drown me. I let it flood in through my mouth and my nose, and I let it steal my air.

I cry even though it hurts. It hurts me everywhere, but I keep going because I can’t stop. I feel myself trying to swim back up, not for air, but to grasp six years of something rare before it gets too far away. But it already is too far away. I sink deeper, the water getting colder and darker and heavier, crushing my chest.

And I stop struggling. I let the water drag me down.

It feels like hours when I hear the front door open, the sound of it far, far away. The sound of panicked shouting and quick feet’s distant too. Then my door bursts open, and Stan’s blurry figure stands there. When he speaks, his voice sounds like I’m hearing it from underwater. Then someone else appears in the doorway as Stan comes rushing forward. It’s Kyle. Stan shouts at him to get someone. I don’t hear who. Stan cradles my head in his lap, and it occurs to me I’m still wailing, but I’ve been at it so long it’s faded to silence in my ears.

Kyle says something, but then Stan shouts at him, and Kyle dashes back the way he came.

In his muffled underwater voice, Stan says to me, “What happened, Butters? Tell me what happened. Did someone hurt you?”

 _Yes,_ I want to say. _Someone did hurt me. The one I’ve loved for six years did. But I’m not mad. I just want him back. Get him back for me, Stan._

“Six years?” Stan mutters.

I guess I was speaking some of it aloud in between my sobs. He glances at my laptop, the screen black now. His dark brows press together, not getting it.

Other voices fade in, two now. I recognize them both, I think. Maybe. I dunno. Then I’m being lifted, and I’m in someone’s lap suddenly, arms wrapped around my body. I’m so cold. I blink up at the person holding me, and I see violet. And for one cruelly hopeful moment, I think it’s Eric. But then I realize Eric’s eyes aren’t this violet. And he doesn’t have two violet eyes. He has one.

Kenny’s face comes into focus and the sounds become sharper, like I’m being pulled out of the water. Kenny stares down at me, a mix of shock, fear, concern.

Kyle says, “Should we call nine-one-one?”

Kenny brings me up a bit higher, and my head falls into the crook of his neck. His fingers ghost over my cheek, brushing away some of my tears. “No,” he says. “We should get him to tell us what happened first. What happened, Leo?” he asks softly.

Eric’s words flash through my mind: _You’re better off without me._

I can’t answer him. Because I feel like a discarded, crumpled piece of paper being smoothed out, only to be fed to a shredder, then dumped into the ocean so the waves can tear up whatever fragile piece of me is left.

I cry harder. Kenny holds me tighter.

“We should call someone,” Kyle says again, his voice more panicky than the last time. “What if he’s hurt?”

“What if he’s not?” Stan says. “Maybe we should call Cartman. He might—”

“No!”

My voice is too loud in my ears. Too raspy. Too broken.

All three look at me.

“No?” Stan says.

All I can muster’s a shake of my head, my strength wasted on a single syllable word. I resume crying even though I don’t wanna. It hurts. I want it to stop. But I can’t.

Kenny’s fingers come up to my face again, running them down my cheek softly. It’s supposed to be comforting. It just reminds me of Eric. I want to hate him. I want to hate him for tearing up six years. But that’s impossible. Because you can’t just instantly hate someone you’ve loved for six years. It’s not that easy. I don’t hate Eric. I love him. And I want him back. I’d give anything for him to touch me and tell me it’s gonna be all right. That we’ll be all right. I want him to call me back and say it was all just a cruel, twisted joke. And even though it’s a messed up joke, I’d gladly forgive him because I’d still have him.

They let me cry. Stan and Kyle stand there. Kenny holds me.

I eventually tire myself out. Two hours have passed, and they’ve all stayed with me in my room. Stan and Kyle are on the floor now, their arms around each other. And Kenny’s still holding me. I’ve been reduced to a soft sniffle. I’ve been reduced to particles of paper lost in the waves.

It’s humiliating to have Stan help me into the bathroom. It’s humiliating to have Kyle brush my teeth for me. It’s humiliating for Kenny to have me sat on the closed toilet lid, wiping down my face with a warm washcloth that smells like coconut. It’s humiliating to me to have them get me into my pajamas and tucked into bed like an incapable child.

But that’s what I feel like. An incapable child.

I learned young that after crying for a long time, it makes you exhausted with all the energy you spent on tears. I fall asleep fast, before Kenny even has a chance to close the door all the way.

I dream.

Except that it’s not a dream, but memory.

Laughter echoes in my head, the hum of a car driving down the road. The wind in my hair’s light and warm. The music on the radio plays happy tunes that I can’t resist singing along too. I glance through the windshield to see the stoplight’s red. I shout, the car braking hard and the seat belt digging into my neck to keep me held down. I jolt back into my seat. I turn my head, laughing breathlessly with shock. Eric in the driver’s seat stares back at me, his two-toned eyes wide, his mouth agape and smiling.

I wake with a scream dying on my lips, and my door being thrown open for the second time today. The lights flick on, and Kenny stands there in a T-shirt and his underwear. His hair’s messy. He just woke up. But there’s a wild look on his face.

“Leo?” he says.

Realizing it was all just a memory, I start crying, thinking, _Great. And I thought I’d run dry of tears._

He closes the door, sitting on the edge of my bed. He holds me to his chest, shushing me and stroking my hair and telling me it’ll be all right.

I want to believe him.

But I can’t.

He repeats that—shushing, stroking, murmuring—until a long, shaky sigh leaves me. I slump in his arms, my eyes heavy again. He lays me down, adjusting my pillow and pulling my blankets back up over my shoulders. My eyes droop, ready to fall asleep.

Kenny gets up, and my heart stops. “Where are you goin’?” I ask, propped up with my elbow. My voice is so small.

Kenny has a finger on the light switch. “I was gonna go back to my room.” He pauses. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

I nod, screwing my knuckles into my eyes. I drop back to my pillows as the lights go off. Kenny comes back to the left side, crawling under the covers. He lays there on his back stiffly. I slide my arms around his chest, my head fitting into the space between his head and neck. I sigh again, closing my eyes.

And on my last drop of consciousness, Kenny turns onto his side. He wraps his arms around me, his nose pressing into the top of my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You call me up again just to break me like a promise  
> So casually cruel in the name of being honest  
> I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here..."  
> -All Too Well


	21. Kenny McCormick

**College, sophomore year.**

The following Monday after Stan found Leo so broken down in his bed on Friday, Leo ends up going to work after class. Kyle, Stan, and I had genuinely thought he’d call in sick because he’s been so unstable the whole weekend. I was even telling him he should call in sick. All weekend, he wouldn’t get out of bed. He’d stay under his blankets, in one of Cartman’s hoodies, his face buried Cartman’s pillow. And all day, he’d shake with silent sobs.

Seeing our usually smiling Leo so distraught dampened our moods. We each fussed over him. We’d try to get him to eat something, or go onto the balcony for some fresh air, to the living room, or even to get him to say something about what happened on Friday when we got home from the party. But he’d push off Stan or Kyle when they’d try to help. I’m the only one who can get him out of bed, or even get him to talk, which is harder than getting him to stand on his feet.

Seeing him curled up like that in bed on Friday was scary. All three of us had done some drinking at the Halloween party, and our minds were muddled with alcohol. So seeing him like that brought the worst to our heads. I remember driving home, ready to tell Leo how fun the party was, how he should come with us to the next party that’s actually on Halloween. But when Kyle pulled me through his door, all those thoughts vanished. Suddenly all that mattered was comforting him and getting him to try to explain what happened.

On Saturday morning while Leo slept, Stan, Kyle, and I theorized about what had happened. Kyle had said that in his half-drunken state, he’d thought someone might have broken in and sexually assaulted Leo, but once his mind cleared up the next morning, he said that maybe his parents had called him and said something to him.

Stan had said, “No, it couldn’t have been. He said something about six years before Kenny had come. He was crying, you know, but I managed to catch a few words. ‘Six years’ and ‘Stan.’ ”

“Didn’t Cartman’s and Leo’s six years just pass, like, a few weeks ago?” I’d said.

And when I did say it, we all slowly locked eyes, the pieces of a puzzle we had no model picture for started clicking into place.

“You don’t think…?” Kyle said.

“No. It couldn’t be,” Stan protested. “They love each other. I’ve never seen Cartman look at someone the way he looks at Butters. Why would he get rid of that?”

He made a fair point, but as the Saturday progressed on and each of us went in and out of Leo’s room, it became more apparent in the way he clutched the pillow and had the hoodie on as he cried like something in him was broken beyond repair.

None of us had the thought to ask Cartman about it. And none of us wanted to bring it up to Leo, in case that was the situation. None of us wanted to have to hear his broken wails any more than we had to.

That night on Saturday, another scream had come from Leo’s room, identical to the one that had happened Friday night. I’d come running to his room, which didn’t take long, being across from mine. I’d gone to his bedside and held him until he’d stopped crying. And he wouldn’t let me go when I tried to leave. He’d held onto me tighter, desperate for me to stay. So I did.

On Sunday, the furthest I got him was to sit up as I opened his curtains without him telling me to close them again. At night, instead of going to my room and waiting to be woken up by his blood-curdling screams, I fell asleep with him in his bed. And that night, he didn’t wake up screaming. He woke up crying. It was still startling to feel the little tremors of his body against mine, but it was better than screams.

Now it’s Monday. During class, I was exhausted the whole time, struggling to pay attention from the lack of sleep. I know Stan and Kyle were the same, seeing them come home from work with dark circles under their eyes. But we don’t blame Leo for it. We’re worried about him.

Leo gets off of work at seven, while Kyle and I get off at five, and Stan at four. Leo has a part time job at the grocery store. He usually comes home with stories about certain customers who were weird or especially nice or especially rude.

It’s 6:13 p.m. I sit with Kyle and Stan in the living room, the TV on but muted as we study. The absence of Leo’s quiet whimpers almost trick me into thinking everything’s back the way it should be. I allow myself to pretend everything really is back to normal until Kyle’s phone starts ringing.

He grunts in annoyance, grabbing for his phone in his pocket. He glances at the screen, and his eyes grow wide. “It’s Cartman,” he says.

“Answer it!” Stan urges as I jump onto their sofa.

“Hey, Cartman,” Kyle says, his words slow. “You’re on speaker by the way.”

There’s silence on the other end. When Cartman speaks, his voice is nasally and raspy like he’s been crying. “How’s… uh, how’s Butters doing?” he asks.

I trade a look with Kyle and Stan. I say, “Do you want the real truth, or do you want it sugarcoated?”

“Um, the real truth,” he says.

“He’s doing bad. He doesn’t come out of his room. He cries all the time. He wakes up screaming,” I tell him, my voice sharp. As the words leave my mouth, spoken verbally for the first time, anger sparks in my chest. I know he’s the reason why Leo’s acting like this. I want to yell at him and demand what the fuck he did, but I don’t know for sure if he even _did_ anything.

Cartman groans. “Fuck. _Fuck._ Why did I do it? I’m such an idiot,” he says.

“What did you do exactly?” Stan asks.

Cartman laughs mirthlessly. “You hadn’t heard? I broke up with Butters.”

Kyle’s and Stan’s jaws drop open, even though we’d suspected.

“Why?” Kyle says.

Cartman cries, “Because I did it for him! You guys know first hand how he would isolate himself! I hated having to hear how he wasn’t having any fun while I was. All I wanted was what’s best for him.”

Him saying that reminds me of prom night, the night Henrietta broke up with me because it would be best for me. Realization dawns on me, and any resentment I held towards Cartman dissipates. I can’t be mad at him for doing what he thought was best for Leo.

“Yeah, well. He _really_ doesn’t leave his room anymore,” Stan says.

Cartman sobs harder. “I regret it. I fucking regret it.”

“Then go back to him. He’d gladly take you back,” Kyle advises.

“I can’t! We’d just fall into that same routine. I just—I wanted him to be happy, and I knew he couldn’t be happy waiting around for me for four years. I was holding him back. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to.” We listen to him cry, and it’s even more unsettling than Leo’s crying because Cartman so rarely cries around us. He’s only really ever cried to Leo. He finds his words, saying, “But, I-I wanted to call to make sure he’s doing okay. I mean, I didn’t expect him to be okay, but…” He sighs. “I don’t know what I was expecting. I just want him to be happy.”

Kyle looks like he might say something brusque, but I say, “I get it, Cartman.”

Stan and Kyle look at me.

“What?” Cartman says.

“I—well, Henrietta did the same for me. She broke up with me because she wanted me to be happy in college, in the next chapter of my life. She didn’t wanna hold me back from meeting someone. I don’t know who, but she thought it was best for me. Maybe it was. I don’t know yet. I don’t really have a say in that until it happens. Is that what you kind of intended with Leo?” I wonder.

Cartman’s silent. I watch the call time on Kyle’s screen increase second by second. Finally, he sighs, “It’s exactly like that. Like, I know he’ll be happier without me. I don’t know why, or how long that’s gonna take, but I know.” He’s quiet again. Then he starts laughing. “I can’t believe I actually thought he’d be doing better than me. It hasn’t even been a week yet. I guess I was so caught up in my own grief that I’d convinced myself he was already taking on the world the way I can’t. I guess I wanted him to be doing better so badly that I’d mixed fantasy with reality. I’m so fucking stupid. I can’t believe I really convinced myself he’d be better already.”

I imagine him shaking his head, calling himself stupid over and over in his mind.

“Well… how are you doing, Cartman?” Stan asks.

Cartman laughs dryly. “Me? Oh, I’m fucking fantastic. I can’t even get out of bed in the mornings, I’m not hungry, and if I do eat, I either feel like vomiting it back up, or I really _do_ vomit it back up. Oh, and I’m starting to see things. I’m great! I totally have my shit together!”

“See things?” Kyle echoes.

“It’s not important,” Cartman says. “Bottom line, I’m fucking terrible. I regret it every second, but I can’t go back. I want to call him so bad… but it’ll just be worse for him. For both of us. I don’t even feel anything. It hurts so much that all I feel is this hollow, empty blackness. I miss him. I fucking miss him and I can’t do anything about it.”

It occurs to me that I have no idea how to comfort him. Comforting Cartman’s always been a challenge only Leo knows how to work his way through. Not only that, but I’ve never ended a six year relationship, or _been_ in an ended six year relationship. Henrietta and I were only together a year, nowhere in comparison to Cartman and Leo. And Henrietta was my longest relationship. I know nothing about long-term relationships.

I glance at Kyle and Stan. They were both with their girlfriends for four years. They broke up with them, but have already moved on. The only other friends of ours who’ve been together as long as Cartman and Leo is Craig and Tweek and Nichole and Token, and they’re all very happily still together.

Kyle and Stan shrug at me like they have no idea how to deal with this either. And they don’t.

Cartman says, “Can you guys, like, not tell him I called? I—I don’t want him to call me. Because I know I’ll answer, and I’ll be back with him in no time. As much as I want that, it’s not good for him. So, um. Yeah. I just wanted to check in. I, uh, I hope it’s nice where he is, no matter how long that takes. I’ll keep in touch.”

“Okay,” Kyle says.

Cartman hangs up, Kyle’s phone darkening.

We stare at each other. So Cartman and Leo really did end things. And it’s a reason similar to why Henrietta broke up with me. Both Cartman and Henrietta left the people they loved so we could be in a better place without being held back. Except they didn’t see themselves as motivation for us to go on. Instead, they saw themselves as bumps in the road, thinking that if they removed themselves, the road would get smoother. But it doesn’t. It just leaves a deep pothole in the pavement. And Leo and I are driving cars with useless steering wheels and no brakes. So we drive headlong into that pothole with no way to go around it or to stop before getting too close. It breaks out axles when we drive into it. It wears our tires when we try to floor it to get out of it. All it does is kick up dirt until we run out of gas, sitting in cars that get us nowhere but forward, and we can’t even go that way because we’re stuck. We’re stuck in impressions of something that are no longer there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And I keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are  
> Hope it's nice where you are..."  
> -Last Kiss


	22. Butters Stotch

**College, sophomore year.**

I can still feel his kiss on my lips—that day at the airport before his flight back to Philadelphia. That day after his fall break three months ago. We were standing in the departure lounge. He had my scarf around his neck. He held my jaw in both hands, tilting my face up to his because of that half inch difference in height. His thumbs were caressing my cheeks as he gazed at me, not saying anything. But he didn’t have to say anything. Because I could feel his words in his eyes. And I could feel the words in his kiss when he put his lips on mine, so delicate but so powerful.

That was followed by a spray of quicker butterfly kisses all over my face. And he pressed a final slow kiss to my mouth before breaking away and walking through that gate. I still remember his words. They were simple and we’d said them a thousand times before: _I love you._

I never thought that kiss would’ve been out last.

And if he really did love me, why did he leave me staring blankly at my desktop that Friday night?

But I know he loves me. More than anything. Because his reason for hanging up our last call in the first place was so I wouldn’t be held back by him.

Such a silly reason.

Eric was the one good thing that had happened to me. My parents didn’t love me. My extended family were crueler than my parents. The people who I thought were my friends didn’t care about me for the first twelve years of my life. I was alone in the world. And then he came into my room that day and asked if he could kiss me, and I knew right then that my life would never be the same. And I was more than excited for the new change.

But I never thought it would end like this.

All our promises, broken like glass. Torn up like paper.

And that fire in his eyes kept me warm. But it’s gone now. So I’m just left here to freeze.

Eric was all I’d known. Losing him was almost as if someone had turned out the lights in an unfamiliar room.

It kills me to have to relive all our old memories at night, watching them play behind my eyelids like a movie. I wish I didn’t wake up screaming each time. But I can’t control that. Because the realization of knowing those memories are no more _kills me._

Eric and I were together six years. That’s two thousand, one hundred, and ninety days. Two thousand, one hundred, ninety memories. And it’s only been roughly ninety days without him. That’s two thousand, one hundred more memories to go, all set up in my mind ready to be projected in my dreams.

And after these three months without him, his memory replaying in my dreams, I’ve come to notice something.

For every milestone of our relationship, he was wearing red.

Our first kiss—red. When I asked if we were dating—red. That Christmas when we were fourteen and I blew him for the first time he was wearing a red windbreaker. When he came out to his parents, what we counted as our first fight when he’d forgotten about me in his room to hang out with our friends. When we revealed our relationship over Instagram, the first time we had sex. That time at Summerton, and I spray painted his red outline on the back of the bathroom building. He wore red that time his mom showed me his baby pictures. That was the day he’d said that maybe one day we’d have a future together.

A future that would turn out to not live past six years.

All of it was red. Every moment. My dreams are a black and white film and the only color that shows is red.

And that’s why I wake up screaming.

Because red was Eric. Red was warm and familiar. Red was all the emotions Eric brought me. Every flash of anger, every burn of passion. All the good and bad in one color.

But nothing’s red anymore.

Everything’s gray and blue.

The only red thing I have left of him is his hoodie.

And since stumbling upon this discovery, I wear the hoodie all the time in hopes of feeling that red comfort one last time.

But what’s the point of a color like red if it doesn’t have any of its warmth anymore?

It’s not the same pretending to have Eric around me with nothing but his hoodies, the lingering smell of his skin, the tattoo of his last kiss on my lips, and the echo of his parting words ringing in my ears.

I miss him.

And I dunno how to cope with it.

But I deal with it by hiding in my closet as I go through the photo album he made me for my nineteenth birthday. It used to be routine that I’d get home from class or work and wait for Eric’s call. Now I come home from class or work and hide away in the closet going through our memories captured in photos.

That doesn’t work all the time though. Like today. I’m sitting in my closet, the door closed. My legs are pulled up to my chest. I cry into my knees. Eric’s hood’s up over my head, the drawstrings tied around my chin. But the smell of him’s fading. It’s December now. I was completely in the dark about whether or not he was coming to Colorado for Thanksgiving or even Christmas. When I asked Kenny, he said he didn’t know either.

I know Kenny, Kyle, and Stan still talk to Eric. And I know they talk about me. So when Kenny said he didn’t know if Eric was coming home, I believed him. I could see it in his eyes that Eric had said nothing about it to them over their recent call.

I wonder what those calls are like. Nothing like ours used to be, I bet. He probably doesn’t gush about how much he misses them, how he can’t wait to see them next. I wonder if Eric cries too. Or I wonder if he’s already over it.

The thought allows a whimper to escape my throat. I hope he’s not over it yet. I hope those six years meant something to him.

I toy with the sleeve of Eric’s hoodie, my tears streaming down my cheeks silently. I like how his hoodies hang off my shoulders and how the sleeves cover my fingertips. I like how Eric’s clothes are too big for me. It used to be that when I wore his clothes in public, people would know it wasn’t mine. Wearing his clothes used to be a comfort, a symbol that I was his. Now it’s more armor as I search for the comfort it used to be, wishing I still _am_ his.

But like the color red, what’s the point of wearing the hoodies if Eric himself was the source of comfort? If he was the thing that made me his?

My phone chimes next to me, but I ignore it. I know it’s Kenny, home from work, asking me where I am. It chimes a couple more times before ringing. I don’t lift my head. I don’t make any attempt to grab for it either.

And it doesn’t matter anyway, because I hear the door to my room open, and then the closet door opens. The ringing of my phone stops. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Kenny. It’s always Kenny. Every day when I hide away in my closet, he’s always the one to find me. As if we were playing hide and seek. But I always hide in the same spot, so he should know where I am by now. I think he does it anyway in hopes of me being anywhere _but_ the closet.

“Hey, Leo,” Kenny says softly. I hear the lock on the closet door rattle as he plays with it.

“I should start locking that door.” I say it every day. I never end up locking it. Deep down, I think I wanna be found and held. No. I _know_ I wanna be found and held. I just wish that maybe one of these days, the person standing at my closet door’s Eric.

I know it’s far-fetched.

Kenny laughs sadly. “Maybe you should.”

There’s silence. I count the seconds. _One, two, three, four..._

I hear the shuffle of jeans as Kenny walks into the closet. I hear it when he crouches in front of me. He puts his hand over my arms wrapped around my head. “Have you eaten?” he asks. His rubs his thumb against my skin.

I sniffle, watching a tear fall into my lap and soak through my pants. “No.”

Kenny just continues to stroke my arm. “Let’s get you to eat something, okay?”

He takes my hand, pulling me up to my feet. He leads me into the kitchen. The curtains to the balcony are still open, the bright setting sun casting the apartment in orange. The shadows of furniture are plastered to the wall, over the front door. Kenny sits me on a stool at the breakfast bar, wiping away my tears with the sleeve of his parka.

“You don’t have to baby me, you know,” I snap.

I immediately regret it when his hand stills on my cheek and his brows furrow in hurt. The sun casts shadows of his eyelashes over his violet eyes. They look so sincerely upset. My tears start to fill up. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, my voice watery and shaking.

He sighs. His breath always smells like mint. “It’s okay,” he says. He wipes away the new tears with his knuckles. His fingers trail down my cheek, resting on my jaw. His hands are rough, but not uncomfortable.

We stare at each other for a moment, blue on violet. He pushes back my hair, his hand resting on the side of my neck. He’s about to kiss me, but he stops himself. There’s this look on his face, this battle of thoughts and emotions. I’ve seen the look on him a lot recently. It always follows after he catches himself leaning into me.

I wish he would kiss me. I wanna feel the warmth of lips on mine and hands cupping my jaw. There’ve been times I’ve considered initiating the kiss myself. But I hold back ‘cause I know I’m just starving for affection. I don’t want Kenny to be my rebound. I don’t wanna do that to him. He’s my best friend, and I don’t wanna mess up our friendship by doing that. He means too much to me.

His hand is still on my cheek. What I can’t resist is nuzzling into his palm. His fingers open, cupping my jaw. It’s too intimate, but neither of us point it out.

“What do you want me to make you?” he asks.

I shrug. “You choose.”

He looks at me, his lips pressed together like he has to restrain them from doing something his head doesn’t agree with. He steps back, and space between us increases. Lately, we’ve lost the boundary of friendly space. I guess that’s what happens when your best friend’s been sleeping in your bed with you for three months.

But I need him. He’s the only reason I don’t wake up screaming anymore. He’s the reason I’m able to fall asleep after waking crying from a memory.

I watch Kenny take tortillas and shredded cheese from the fridge. “How about some enchiladas?” He looks at me expectantly like I might say something, but I just shrug again, tracing the lines of the marble on the counter. He smiles softly, putting the stuff down and signing to me, _It’s chicken. Is that okay?_

Ever since the breakup, I’ve found it hard to form words. In high school, Kenny and I took ASL. The first time I signed to him was when he asked me one morning what I dreamt about. I’d told him in sign language that it had to do with Eric. I didn’t specify what, but he understood that I wouldn’t wanna talk about it further. Even if we weren’t talking verbally.

 _It’s fine,_ I sign back.

Kenny nods. He puts his phone on the counter, pushing it towards me. _Can you put on some music please?_

I hold my thumb to his screen, my fingerprint going through. I can’t recall a vivid memory of him putting my fingerprint into his phone. It musta been when I was lost in my own grief. I connect his phone to Stan’s speaker. Then I go onto Spotify, pressing on his most recently listened to playlist. Quiet, calming music drifts into the air.

I sigh heavily, putting my cheek on the cool counter. I clamp my stinging eyes shut. I listen to the sound of Kenny getting a pan from the cupboard and setting it on the stove. The _click click_ of the stove being turned on is too loud. I lift my hands, saying, _Where are Stan and Kyle?_

“They’re on a date. They’re going out for dinner. So it’s just the two of us tonight.”

_Yay._

I didn’t mean it to be sarcastic. But he might not even interpret it that way. Kenny chuckles, taking my hands and squeezing them. I get a feeling he’s debating whether or not if it’s okay to kiss my fingers around his. But I guess he decides against it when he lets go of my hands.

Kenny sings along to the song, the words foreign. Yet he sings them like he knows exactly what they mean. He often sings me to sleep after nightmares. He’s good at singing. His voice is so soothing and smooth.

The enchiladas are done eleven songs later. Kenny sets my plate in front of me. I don’t start eating till he sits next to me and pets my hair. Then do I lift my head and start eating.

 _It’s good,_ I sign, chewing slowly.

Mid-bite, he puts his hand to his chin before gesturing out, like he’s blowing a kiss. _Thank you._

After I’ve finished my two enchiladas, I sit with Kenny on the couch as we watch some documentary on the TV. I’m curled up at his side, my head on his shoulder. He has a blanket laid out over us. One of his arms are on the arm of the couch. The other’s on his knee. I want to take his hand in mine under the blanket, but I remind myself that I won’t let Kenny be my rebound.

I’m more watching the sky than the TV. I watch the fade of colors. It’s funny how the sun goes from its brightest only to sink to its darkest less than ten minutes later.

I wake up in my bed in the dark, alone. I shoot up to a sitting position, my breath coming in quick. Kenny appears in the doorway, the light from the bathroom illuminating his silhouette. Around his toothbrush, he says, “It’s okay, Leo. I’m here.”

He’s in pajamas, and I realize I am too. I musta fallen asleep on the couch. He musta helped me into my pajamas and put me to bed.

My hyperventilating turns into sobs. Kenny rushes over to my bedside, wrapping his arms around me. I cry into his shoulder, and he strokes my hair. He starts humming, unable to sing with the toothbrush in his mouth and probably foam and spit too. He rocks me slowly.

I want to tell him he’s treating me like a child again. But I also don’t want him to take it the wrong way and stop comforting me. So I let him do it, humming and rocking like a mother would her crying baby. For the past three months, all I’ve felt like is a baby. A squealing, kicking and crying thing that depends on others to survive.

But maybe I’ve always needed someone else to help me survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But now I'll go sit on the floor  
> Wearing your clothes  
> All that I know is  
> I don't know how to be something you miss  
> I never thought we'd have a last kiss..."  
> -Last Kiss


	23. Butters Stotch

**College, sophomore year.**

The days pass painstakingly slow. I remember when I was with Eric, the time seemed to fly by, especially when we were in our last few months together. It’s the opposite now. I guess that’s what happens when you have nothing to look forward to.

Back in middle school and high school, Eric would walk with me from the bus to his or my house. But now I walk the streets alone, my head down and my hands in my pockets. The December wind blows through my clothes. Christmas break starts once this week’s over. I have no one to spend it with. I spent my Christmases with Eric after my parents unspokenly disowned me. Who do I have to go to now? All my friends have their families. The only family I had left broke up with me. And we’re both too scared to try to reach out to each other.

I quicken my pace as I near the apartment building. I run my finger over the teeth of the key in my pocket, pressing down and feeling the jagged metal bite into my skin. I climb the stairs, my steps echoing throughout the hallway. I take my hands from my pockets, about to open the door, when I notice a box sitting in front of it.

I crouch, picking it up. It’s a big box, obscuring my vision when I lift it into my arms. It’s real heavy. Stan or Kyle musta ordered something. By memory, I insert the key into the lock. I push open the door, setting the box on the counter. I take off my shoes and jacket, but I leave on Eric’s red hoodie. I make sure the door’s locked. Then, out of pure curiosity, I go over and check the box’s label. As I read it, I realize it’s not something Stan or Kyle or even Kenny ordered.

Because it’s addressed to me.

My eyes fly up to the return address. And suddenly the already shattered pieces of my heart are crushed to a grain. As my vision’s blurred by tears and my hand’s pressed to my mouth, I read the label over again.

I’m not reading it wrong.

It’s really from Eric, all the way in Philadelphia. He shipped it back on November thirtieth. It weighs three and a quarter pounds.

Shaking, I go through the knife drawer and pick out the scissors. I rip open the tape over the top of the box. I pull back the flaps. And a sob leaves me. It’s all my old clothes I’d left at Eric house over the years. Every T-shirt, every pair of jeans, every sock and underwear. All back to me.

I sink to the floor, my legs pulled up to my chest. And as per routine, I put my head on my knees and I cry. I cry until it hurts my ribs and crushes my heart and tears up my vocal chords.

Kenny won’t even be coming home soon to see me in this state and to help me out of it. Like Stan and Kyle, Kenny’s at work. He doesn’t come home until eight today. Kyle’s gonna be the first to find me like this if I don’t stop soon. But without someone to tell me it’s gonna be okay, I don’t think I’ll ever stop, even if my tears no longer flow.

Time’s slow for me. The only reason I know it’s moving is by the hands on the clock on the wall opposite to me. So I dunno if it’s been an hour or ten minutes when I’ve mustered up enough strength to stand on two wobbly feet. I sway a bit, facing the box. But I reach in and pull out the first thing. It’s a shirt. A black Led Zeppelin shirt. The memory whizzes through my mind, knocking the air out of my lungs. I struggle to breathe correctly.

I set it aside with the speed of a snail. If I move too fast, I might just topple over and not be able to get up again.

The second thing’s my old teal jacket that I wore throughout middle and high school. It’s thin as paper from being worn so many times. Gradually, I get out everything that’s in the box, laid out on the counter. It’s things I left at Eric’s house. Old clothes and knickknacks. That Zeppelin shirt. My pale yellow socks with white skulls on them that he liked so much. The Roman coin necklace. Even some shirts I gave to him as a piece of me for when he’s away in Philadelphia. All of it’s here.

Except for one thing.

My scarf. The one I wore to New York on his parents’ honeymoon. The one I gave him as a parting gift the first time he had to go. It’s not here. He’s kept it.

And the knowledge of that brings the smallest breath of relief. Seeing all these things here put the thought into my mind that he’s over it, that he’s moving on. But he still has that scarf. He’s still mourning and grieving and holding it to him, pretending it’s me.

Just like I do with his hoodies.

A flash of memories pass before my eyes. I see myself wearing some of those shirts, laying on Eric’s bed as he runs his hands over my skin. Some of those shirts he pulled over my head to kiss my chest. Some of those shirts he’d helped me into after sex. Some of those shirts I wore when we just laid there in his bed, my back against his chest, dreaming of our future together.

Empty promises just like empty hearts.

When I pack the stuff back up, I do it faster than when I was taking it out. I throw in the clothes. They were all neat and folded before I blew through them. Shirts and pants spilling over the flaps, I pick up the box. I kick open my bedroom door, then my closet door. In the corner where I sit and hide and cry, I shove the box there, turning my back.

I close the closet door with a loud slam.

I’m hyperventilating again.

 

I didn’t tell my friends about the box when they all came home from work. They were shocked to see me in the kitchen, cooking dinner. They knew something was up, but they didn’t question it. I’m glad they didn’t. If they did, I probably woulda broken down crying all over again. And Kenny woulda found that box.

Now it’s the last day before break. I only have one more class to push through. In the beginning of the year, I thought I knew no one in the class. But then I saw her closer to the front of the classroom. She looks different from high school. Her hair’s longer than it was before, a dark chocolate brown. She still wears tight shirts and jeans. Only now, she wears heels with them instead of sneakers. When she turns her head, I see that she still wears hoop earrings.

In high school, all the boys knew a saying they practically lived by: _The bigger the hoops, the bigger the hoe._

Nelly’s hoops hang down from her ears, touching her shoulders.

Even Kenny called her a hoe in high school. She dated boys no longer than two weeks. And that’s what made all the boys want her more. It was the reason Bebe and her friends stopped talking to her.

Nelly’s skin is pale, her lips set in a pout, her jawline sharp. She has feathery eyelashes, but maybe they’re fake. Her eyes are brown.

And suddenly, those brown eyes revolve, locking with mine.

I don’t want Kenny to be my rebound, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have one at all.

Nelly’s head tilts in the slightest way, amused. She gets up and gathers her stuff, sauntering over to me. She sits in the empty desk next to mine.

“Long time no see, Butters,” she says with a jaded smile. Yet her voice sounds sincere.

“H-hi,” I say.

And I startle myself, because ever since the breakup, I don’t speak outside of my apartment.

She puts her chin in her palm, her movements measured, like she wants me to watch her. She looks me up and down, sending icy fingers down my spine. “You’ve changed quite a lot since elementary. When did it happen? Middle school?” She sighs, and her sigh’s dainty. “I would’ve loved to see that.”

“Y-you went to a different middle school, right?” I ask, because my mind’s so muddled I can’t remember correctly.

She nods, her bottom lip out in an almost pout. She notices my gaze on her mouth. She leans closer to me, and I catch a whiff of her perfume. “Did you know I had a crush on you in high school, our freshman year? You’d changed so much, and it was crazy. I hated you for all of our elementary years, I didn’t see you for middle school. And suddenly I’m in the same art class with you in freshman year and my feelings for you have flipped on its head.” She sticks her hand out, drawing circles on the back of my hand. She looks up into my eyes, never breaking contact. “And I wanted to ask you out, but you avoided me every time I came close.” Now she really does pout.

My laugh comes out strained. “I thought you still hated me.”

She smiles without teeth. “Of course not. I’d convinced myself at the time that I’d fallen in love with you despite not having spoken to you since sixth grade. It was obvious you’d changed since elementary. You weren’t that misogynistic asshole anymore. You were sweet, and good at art...” With every word, she gets closer. “And kind. And always so polite.” She runs a finger over my jawline. “Not to mention so, _so_ handsome.”

Now she smiles with teeth. They’re perfectly straight and white. But it’s gone too soon, dropped into a frown. Her voice holds a whine that makes me want to take her into my arms and beg for her forgiveness for whatever I did. “Then sophomore year came along, and it was the talk of the school when people found out you were dating Eric Cartman.”

The name makes me flinch. It’s a jab of pain the way she says it so sharply, dripping with disgust. She sees this.

Her voice is in my ear, her breath on my cheek when she murmurs, “But that’s not the case anymore, hm? If it was”—She turns my face towards hers—“you wouldn’t be staring at me, now would you?”

My head slowly nods, mesmerized by her.

She stares at my lips. I swallow thickly. She says, “Do you have anything to do after this class, Butters?”

“N-no,” I say.

She meets my eye again, and I feel like I’m being cast under a spell. She puts her lips to my ear, whispering, “Meet me in the parking lot.”

And then the bell rings, the spell broken. I blink, and she’s gone. The only remaining thing of her’s the sound of her heels clicking out of the classroom.

I do as she says, my feet taking me to the parking lot. At first I worry about not seeing her with all the cars, but it’s easy to spot her leaning against a white Cadillac, her eyes already on me. She pushes herself off the car when I get closer. The cold chills the sweat beading up on my skin from her stare.

She walks over to me, heels clicking. She looks up at me. In her heels, she’s three inches shorter. And they add two inches to her height at least.

She puts her hand on my shoulder, kneading like she’s giving me a massage. Her hand slides down my chest, around my waist. I can’t move as she sizes me up, circling around me and running her hands over me. When she’s made a full circle and stands back in front of me, she smirks. “Puberty did you good, Butters,” she drawls.

My eyes dart to her chest. “You too,” I blurt, blushing as soon as I do.

She grins, her sharp canines showing. She lifts her boobs, tossing her hair over her shoulder, exposing her collarbones. She’s in a tube top without a jacket despite the winter weather.

“A-aren’t you cold?” I stutter.

She laughs. She pats my chest. “A hoe never gets cold.”

I stammer silently. “I—I don’t think you’re a hoe.”

She grins at me again. “Then you’re wrong.” She takes my arm, leading me away from the Cadillac. “Where do you live?”

“W-wait, that wasn’t your car?” I ask, twisting around to point at it.

She doesn’t look where I’m pointing, keeping her gaze fixated ahead. “Nope. I have no idea whose car that was.”

I gape at her, and she laughs. “So do you live around here?” she asks again.

“Um. Yeah. It’s just down the street. I’ll point it out to you when we get there.”

We walk down the sidewalk I’ve been walking for a year. I walked alone that whole year, to and from school. This is the first time I’m walking with someone. Someone who used to hate me in elementary school, who liked me in our first year of high school, and now I’m escorting her to my apartment.

As soon as I wonder what might happen when we get there, my mind gives me the answer.

We end up in my room, laying on top of the covers, her straddling me. She runs her hands down my chest again, slowly this time, and without the bulk of coats. Just a shirt. When she gets awful close to the tightness of my jeans, she pushes her hands up under my shirt, her fingers moving up my stomach.

It makes a huff of breath come out of me. It makes her grin. “You know, when you were dating Cartman, I thought you were gay. I mean, you were dating a guy after all,” she says.

“Don’t—say that name,” I rasp.

She lifts an eyebrow. “Your wish is my command.” She stops when she has her hands at the base of my throat. “So you’re into girls too?” she asks.

I nod.

She makes a satisfied, “Hm.” She sits back, shifting on top of me. I bite my tongue to hold back a moan. “Take off your shirt.”

I take off my shirt.

“Your pants too.”

Those come off also.

Suddenly, she’s in her underwear, guiding my hands up her back to her bra strap. She leans forward as she does. She kisses me, but it holds no love. Just lust. I unhook her bra, watching it slip off her shoulders, my eyes growing wide.

She takes my hands from her back. This time she guides me up her stomach, up and up. Having my hands on her, instinct kicks in, and I know exactly what to do.

She tilts her head back as I kiss her neck, as I kiss her lower. She holds my head down, gasping and sighing. “You’re so gentle, Butters,” she moans as I caress her with my tongue.

My hands go down her soft skin, and her hands go up mine, wrapping around my neck. She leans back, bringing me with her. We don’t speak as I put on the condom. She watches, and it makes my hands shake. I’m not used to being on top. When I was on top, I’d still be the one receiving. And I know she knows this by her whispered instructions. Where to put my hands. What to do with my mouth. How to move my tongue. Where to position myself.

It’s different—being with a girl in this way. It’s different being the dominant one, knowing the moaned words are for me. The shape of her body, her voice, the taste of her skin—it’s all so different. But it’s better because it _is_ different. It’s nothing like what it was with Eric. And that’s what I need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it  
> I'd like to be my old self again  
> But I'm still trying to find it  
> After plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own  
> Now you mail back my things and I walk home alone..."  
> -All Too Well


	24. Butters Stotch

**College, sophomore year.**

It’s one of those days where wearing Eric’s hoodie isn’t enough. I’ve stopped hiding in the closet since I put the box of returned clothes in the spot I’d often sit. I sit cross-legged on my bed, the photo album Eric made for me opened up to the very first page. He’d changed it around a bit before leaving. Now the first page holds a picture of us when we were in sixth grade. It was our graduation, and Liane had Eric take pictures with each of his friends. He was happy that day, so he didn’t protest. In the picture, Eric has his arm thrown around my shoulders, beaming at the camera. My fists are pressed together, the only evidence of my surprise when he pulled me to him that day.

Next to that’s a picture of me smiling with my eyes squeezed shut. I’m sat in front of my childhood window, my legs crossed under me. A corner of Eric’s face is in frame, and the tip of his tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth.

I huff a laugh, running my fingers over the photo. He took it the day after we kissed the first time. We were filled with an energy we hadn’t ever felt before. We felt like we could conquer the world and go down in the history books.

When the pictures start to show Eric and I when we were fifteen, the images turn from printed photo paper to Polaroid film. He never did stop using that camera. He just started using it less. He used the Polaroid for special occasions.

I start laughing with tears in my eyes by the time I get to sixteen and I see myself in that blonde wig and blue dress. I wore it for that Halloween when I went as Marjorine. Eric went as AWESOM-O. That Halloween for me was so reminiscent of my childhood, twisted as it may be. It really made me realize how much Eric and I’d changed since then. How much our feelings towards each other changed.

Each time I turn a page, I do it slowly, skimming my fingers over his face in each picture, knowing he’d touched these images once too. I exhale, my shoulders slumping forward. I keep flipping through, making sure to take in every detail of his face. The way his smile shows his canines, the way his eyes sparkle, the way his hair falls across his forehead.

By the time we’re eighteen in the images, the pictures become less innocent and more raunchy. We’re shirtless in most of them, our hair messy. When we’re not in our undressed state, our necks have hickeys on every few inches of skin. In one of the photos, Eric’s arm’s around the back of my neck, squeezing me to him as he captures my lips in his. I’m clutching his shirt in surprise, my eyes shut. In the picture right next to that, my mouth’s split in a grin, my nose wrinkled. His mouth’s lifted in a smile too, but he’s still kissing me.

My heart hurts just looking at it. I lick my lips, craving the taste of his kiss. It’s been so long without it. If we were still together, I’d be in bed with him instead of me being in bed with photos of him. He woulda been in Colorado too. It’s Christmas Eve. We woulda been at his house, sitting on the couch sipping hot cocoa and watching _Elf,_ but not really paying attention because we’d be too absorbed in each other.

Kyle, Stan, and Kenny are back in South Park right now, spending time with their families. Stan and Kenny’s Christmas is interesting this year. Since Shelly and Kevin are married now, that means Stan’s family’s gonna be spending Christmas with Kenny’s. It’s funny to remember they’re brothers-in-law now.

I keep paging through the album, and with each turn, my heart aches just a bit more. When Eric and I are nineteen, a tear of mine drops onto the laminated image of Eric kissing the underside of my jaw.

“Oh, Eric,” I whisper as I wipe off the wet spot with my thumb. My thumb ghosts over his neck. “Why’d you have to do this to us?” I start laughing again, my chest throbbing in pain with each intake of breath. “We were so, so stupid.”

The last photo’s from our six years. It’s us. And we’re smiling as we kiss. Our cheeks and noses are rosy. Our breath fogs. He’s wearing my scarf. And we look so in love. And we were. We still are. Or I still am. But intuition tells me he still is too.

If I could go back in time and tell this version of me that Eric would break up with me two weeks after our six years, I wouldn’t believe me.

Heck, I still can’t fully wrap my head around it even after three months.

I take the image from the sleeve, careful to not get my fingerprints on the glossy finish. I turn it over, tracing the date in his handwriting. And below that’s a heart. No words. Just a heart. Not even a _6 years_ like the others. I dunno why he wrote it like this. Maybe he thought at this point we’d be together forever, so we wouldn’t need to specify years. We’d already know.

How wrong he was.

Both of us.

The picture’s a good note to end the album on. I put it back. I close the album, turning it over so I can see our hands shaped in a heart on the cover.

When Eric came back for his fall break, we posted all over Instagram, not thinking to print any pictures for the album. Since the breakup, I’ve been avoiding Instagram. I don’t wanna go onto it and find out he’s unfollowed me and deleted all the pictures of us together.

I haven’t deleted anything or unfollowed him. And I don’t plan on it.

Hands shaking, I take my phone from my desk where it was charging. I tap on Instagram. I go onto the explore page, typing in his username. At the first letter, his profile comes up. I press on it. He posted two days ago. It’s a video of Les and Callum having a snowball fight. Callum hits Les right in the face, snow exploding around him.

Eric laughs from behind the camera. “You guys are fags,” he says.

Callum and Les freeze, gaping at Eric. “You can’t say that! That’s offensive!” Callum says.

“Shut the fuck up, you goddamn hypocrite. If you can use the N-word, I can use the F-word. Because I’m a fag, I can say it but you can’t,” Eric says. “That’s why you can say the N-word.”

Callum makes a face. “Did you just indirectly call me a—”

Les reels back his arm and throws his snowball right in Callum’s face.

The video cuts off with Callum’s shouted, “OW!” and Eric’s cackle.

I find myself biting my thumb around a smile. I’ve missed his laugh. He sounds so happy. He sounds nothing like the mess I’ve become.

The previous twelve pictures are of Eric’s college life. I feel like I’m being pushed from his memory with each image. I feel like an outsider looking in. I’ve never been a spectator in his life. I’ve always played the game right by his side, never too far from him.

But after those thirteen pictures of his new life without me, I come back to Eric’s fall break when we were still together. That feeling of being forgotten disappears. If he were really trying to forget, he would’ve deleted all these photos. There’re pictures of me and him, but mostly me. The most recent image of us before everything changed is a picture of me looking down at my phone. He’s captured the side of my face, the sun bright against me, making my hair look white. He captioned it with a bunch of heart emojis. And in the midst of it all, he put **ilovehimsomuch**.

I’d liked the image when he posted it.

Posted before that’s a video of us walking in the dark. We were at an amusement park to see the temporary Halloween transformation it went through for the spooky season. Eric says, “So was that scary?” He tilts the phone towards me.

I’m looking up at him, fighting a grin. “Says the one who hid behind me the whole time holding my hands,” I remark.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Um, that’s a lie and you know it.”

I laugh in the video, shaking my head. I press up onto my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. He lifts our joined hands, not letting go as he chucks a deuce to the camera. The video starts over again.

I smile to myself, remembering that day. Those mazes were pretty scary. In one, it was completely dark. You’d have to feel around to find your way out. Sometimes your fingers would brush something that wasn’t the wall. Sometimes you’d feel the ripple of air as something ran in front of you. Eric had his face buried in the back of my shoulder, holding me around the waist the whole time during that maze. Every time I’d stop because I’d sense something in front of me, he’d squeeze me tighter.

We were with Kenny, Stan and Kyle too, but whenever I reflect on those memories, I just remember Eric and how I never felt scared walking through those mazes because I’d had him.

But being without him, I’ve felt fear for the first time in a long time.

Going back through his one thousand, six hundred, twenty-nine posts to find every moment together holds a pending hurt I don’t wanna put myself through. I go back to his profile. He had a story collection dedicated to just me. He still does. There are so many stories including me and about me that the bars at the top are minuscule dots. I watch every video, feeling a flurry of emotions in my chest.

The videos make me feel reminiscent, sad, happy, distraught, nostalgic, angry, relieved. So many things.

My heart picks up speed again when I go to his following list. I stare at the search bar, debating if I should even do this. I might regret it if I do. I might regret it if I don’t. I swallow thickly, typing my user into the search bar. It comes up.

He’s still following me.

I clap a hand over my mouth, suppressing a sob.

This shouldn’t be surprising. He didn’t delete our pictures or his collection. Why would he keep all that but unfollow me?

A dark thought intrudes my brain: _What if he just hasn’t gotten around to deleting them all and unfollowing you?_

That doesn’t make sense though. It’s been three months. He’s had time to get rid of me if he really wanted to.

I find myself going through my own posts, staring at each picture, reading every dirty comment of his. I remember whenever he’d comment the way he did, I’d be embarrassed. That’s why he continued to do it. Because he liked my reaction. Now I miss his comments like: **cmere so i can make out w u w 2 of my fingers inside u**.

Those comments would make me blush and cover my face with my hands as I hid myself in his chest, whining, _“Eriiiic.”_ And he would laugh, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my temple.

I’d give up the whole world to be able to do that again.

I’ve nowhere near as many posts as Eric. So getting to the revelation of our relationship’s quick. If one day he does unfollow me and delete all his posts of us, I wouldn’t do the same. Even if we’ve both moved on with our lives and forgotten the feel of us breathing each other’s air and watching as the other slept, I still wouldn’t delete the posts.

We used to do that a lot—watching each other sleep. Eric always looked so peaceful when he slept. I’d often run my fingers over his cheek and into this hair, watching his eyes move rapidly beneath his lids. And one night, he blinked open his eyes at me. And I’d apologize for waking him. He’d just smiled sleepily like he living a sweet dream, taking me into his arms.

And there were times Eric would do the same to me. And one midnight, I was on the brink of slumber, and I felt him caress my skin. And I’d smiled. Being safe and loved was my final conscious thought before I’d fallen asleep.

I look up from my phone when my bedroom door opens. Kenny stands there, his hand on the doorknob, his eyes on the photo album.

“Kenny,” I say. “I thought you’d left for South Park.”

He meets my gaze and forces a smile. I can see his mind churning around the sight of my photo album on my bed. “No. I haven’t left yet.” He scuffs the toe of his shoe into the floor. He continues to hover for a moment, our gaze never breaking. Then he walks into the room, sitting next to me on the bed. It dips beneath the added weight. “I, uh… Are you sure you don’t wanna come back to South Park with me? I’m sure everyone will be cool with it if you spend Christmas with us,” he says.

I shake my head, turning off my phone and sliding it under my leg. “It’s okay. It’s your first Christmas to spend with Stan and them as your new family. I don’t wanna intrude on that.”

“You wouldn’t intrude,” Kenny insists. He carefully takes my left hand, threading his fingers through mine just as cautious, as if he’s getting his hands around a crystal glass. That wild gleam’s returned to his eyes. I haven’t seen it since he found me broken in my bed. “Tell you what. What if I just stay here with you? For tonight? We can have an early Christmas. Just you and me. We can sit in the living room and open our gifts to each other. After that I’ll drive up to South Park.” He opens and closes his mouth, no words coming out. He looks down at our joined hands. “I-I don’t want you to be alone here, Leo.”

I laugh, just as strained as his smile when he walked in. “I’ll be fine by myself, Kenny. You don’t have to worry about me.” I flash him a smile as if to say, _See? I’m stable enough to be on my own for two days._

That gleam softens to something kinder. His hand leaves mine. He reaches up, gingerly touching my cheek. When I don’t flinch away, he puts his palm on my face. He stares down at my mouth, his own mouth parted. Then he looks up at me, blushes, and swipes his tongue over his lips. “Uh—Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? It’s fine if you do, Leo. They’ll understand,” he says.

I offer him a close-lipped smile. I take his hand from my cheek, lowering it to my lap. I run my fingers over his knuckles, staring into his violet eyes. For a moment, they look hurt at the fact I’ve removed the intimate contact. But when I start to speak, it disappears. “I’m sure. You should be with your family. This Christmas is special. You should be there.”

He takes a breath in, about to say something, but I interrupt, “Kenny. I’ll be fine.”

As soon as the words leave me, the doorbell rings. “I’ll, uh, I’ll get it,” he murmurs to me. Yet he hesitates, his fingers still around mine, before standing and exiting my room.

He leaves the door open, and I watch as he unlocks the front door. I get up, putting the photo album back in its spot in my desk bookcase.

I hear the door open, then Kenny’s surprised, _“Nelly?”_

“Hi, Kenny. Long time no see,” she replies.

“What are you doing here? How do you know where we live?” he sputters.

I pocket my phone and wallet, closing my bedroom door behind me as I leave the room. “Hey, Nelly,” I greet.

The corner of her lips quirk upwards. “Ready?” she asks me.

I nod, taking her hand in mine.

Kenny’s jaw doesn’t drop in shock. He doesn’t mutter his reaction. His eyes are just on mine and Nelly’s linked hands, his brow furrowed in confusion. It’s not much, but he looks so betrayed. It makes my already weak and broken heart break a bit more.

I dunno how Kenny feels about me. Maybe he’s just confused right now, caught up in wanting to be my superhero. My Mysterion. He’s caught up in being the one to swoop in and save my day. He’s caught up in being the only thing that makes me smile, generous as it is. And he’s broken too. Hurt over Henrietta. Maybe he’s rebounding on me.

But he’ll get over it.

Because he’s Kenny.

And Kenny doesn’t let anything get in his way.

“You go to your family in South Park, Kenny. I’ll be okay,” I tell him one more time. And then I walk out of the apartment, my hand in Nelly’s, the door swinging shut behind us.

In Nelly’s car, I drive us to the restaurant we have reservations for. Last week, she took me in for my driver’s test since South Park’s DMV was wrong. Even though I can only see clearly out of one eye, I can still drive. She keeps her hand on my thigh the whole drive over. It’s comforting, especially since this is the first time I’ve driven since I drove us home from the DMV that day.

We established a few days after the first time I took her home that what we are is nothing serious. She said she understands she’s a rebound, and likes it better that way. She says commitment scares her.

The restaurant’s crowded, but we’re seated immediately. Nelly knows the person who seats us, batting her eyelashes at him as she thanks him as we sit. As he walks back to the front of the restaurant, he shoots me a thumbs up.

Nelly puts her head on my shoulder as we look at the menu. “He was one of my flings,” she explains.

“I had a feeling,” I say.

She laughs. Nelly’s laugh’s nice. It’s not that girlish giggle the girls I know have. It’s a loud laugh that catches the attention of everyone in the room and holds it there, captivated by the sound.

It’s like Eric’s laugh in a way. Eric always laughed loud, not caring who was around or where he was. I loved that about him. He’s always had strength to do what I was too afraid to do.

After our waitress comes by and takes our order and menus, Nelly stretches her arms across the tabletop, her head on the table. Her brown hair falls in her face. I tuck the strand behind her ear. I see her mouth jump in a smile. She has a dimple on her left cheek. It only shows when she smiles genuinely.

“You’re so different from the others,” she says.

“What do you mean?” I ask, laying my hand on her arm.

“The others were rough. I didn’t mind it. It was still enjoyable. But it’s different with you. You’re never rough. Always gentle. I like it. It’s nice to be treated so differently.”

I nod, understanding completely.

After dinner, we go back to the apartment. Kenny’s gone. That look on his face burns into my brain as I sit with Nelly on the couch. She tilts her head at the fake Christmas tree. “I never expected four guys to decorate a tree so well,” she says.

The tree’s lit up in white lights, wrapped in silver garlands. Silver ornaments hang from the stems.

I chuckle. “Well the lights are a part of the tree. We just added the garlands and ornaments.”

“Oh. Still impressive.”

I smile, leaning in to kiss her. Nelly’s a good kisser. I guess it’s a given after kissing so many guys. Everything gets heated quickly, and we stumble into my bedroom. She already has her shirt off and on the floor. She pushes me onto the bed, undressing me, my tongue in her mouth.

Kenny was worried that I’d be alone on Christmas. No one should be alone on Christmas, I agree, but I’m not alone. I have Nelly. And in hindsight, I should’ve mentioned something about her to Kenny. I never got around to it, never knowing how to bring it up.

I won’t be alone on Christmas morning. I have Nelly to unwrap like a present, already in my bed, my blankets covering her up. I don’t need any other company other than the kisses that hold no love. I don’t need any other body except hers as we move with lust.

I was worrying about Eric desperately trying to forget me.

But maybe I’m the one desperately trying to forget him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep  
> And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe..."  
> -Last Kiss


	25. Butters Stotch

**College, sophomore year.**

It’s a Tuesday at 7:00 p.m. in April. I’m at work, getting ready to leave. I pocket my name tag and turn the sound of my phone on. I say goodbye to Jess at the other checkout aisle. She waves to me. I leave the store, getting into Kenny’s car. I used to walk to work after school, but since I got my license, I can drive. The walk was only twenty minutes, but it’s still nice to not have to walk in the cold like I used to.

At the last stoplight coming up to the apartment, my phone starts ringing from its spot on the center console. I reach over and turn off my ringer. At home, I unlock the door, dumping my backpack on the counter.

“Hey, Butters,” Stan says from the couch.

“Hi,” I respond. I look up, and it’s just Stan. “Where’s Kyle and Kenny?”

“Kyle has to work overtime. I have no idea where Kenny is,” he says.

We hold our gazes, the same thought passing through our minds. Kenny hasn’t been to Henrietta’s since my breakdown. He was too busy helping me get back to my old self. We discovered after only a few days that I’d never be able to be my old self again. I guess him seeing me with Nelly was a cue for him to go back to her.

I sit next to Stan on the couch, rubbing my knuckles together. He has a textbook open in his lap, a picture of the insides of a rat on the left page.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “For the way I was acting when… um. But. I just wanted to apologize to you. And Kyle. You fellas were just tryna help. And I pushed you away.”

Stan puts his arm around me. “I get it, Butters. I also push people away closest to me when I get depressed. It’s just how we cope with difficult things.”

I search his ocean blue eyes for any insincerity. When I find none, I smile. “Do you think it’s a bisexual thing?” I joke.

He laughs, pulling back and patting my shoulder. “Probably.”

We laugh together, and for once, I feel peaceful without Kenny or Nelly around to fill a void. The raging waves of the ocean have calmed to gentle ripples. Even if it did take seven months.

“So…” Stan starts. “What’s with you and Nelly?”

I wrinkle my nose and shrug a shoulder. “Friends with benefits, I guess. I guess you could call her my girlfriend. I’m not sure. We just sorta drifted to each other. She sees other guys though. I think, anyway. We’ve never really spoken about it,” I explain.

“It doesn’t bother you that she’s seeing other guys?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“How come?”

“I think us being exclusive would be too real. If she sees other guys, then it’s forever ingrained in the back of our minds that we’re nothin’ special. We’re nothin' more than…” I throw up my hands, explaining the rest without words. Not that he understands ASL. He took Spanish.

Stan nods like he knows what I’m saying.

I grab for my phone to check the time. When I turn it on, I don’t notice the time. Instead I notice four missed calls and nine unread messages. One voicemail. All from Eric.

My breath hitches. Stan notices and says, “What?” He peers over my shoulder. “Oh.”

I continue to stare at my screen until it blacks out. When it does, I stare at my dark reflection in the glass. I look afraid. My eyes are wide, my breathing shallow.

Stan looks at me. His voice is low when he says, “What are you gonna do?”

I wanna throw my phone across the room and watch it hit the wall. I wanna call him back. I wanna read his messages. I wanna beg for him to return to what we were. I wanna block and delete his number. I wanna hear my name in his voice. I wanna tell him to never call me again.

I want so many things, but I can’t decide on what I want more.

My heart leaps to my throat when I hold my thumb over the sensor, unlocking my phone. I’m desperate to see what Eric has to say. My brain tells me to stop, that I’ll regret it, but my heart seems to be in control right now.

I go to my call log first. Eric had called within the hour. The first time he called was at 6:02. The others are at 6:10, 6:42, 7:19. At 6:34, he left a voicemail.

I turn up my volume to full blast. I don’t care that Stan’s listening and watching me carefully when I play it.

The first sound’s of shuffling. Then there’s silence. Then Eric’s voice, his voice that I haven’t heard in seven months. “Uh, hey… hey, Butters. I, um, I know you’re probably wondering why I’ve tried to call you despite not having called in seven months.” He laughs, but his laugh’s damaged and mirthless. “I… I heard. A-about you and Nelly.”

My breath catches again. I look at Stan, and he stares back. I wonder who told Eric.

Eric continues, “I… I guess I wanted to say, uh… I’m—I’m glad. That you’ve moved on.” He laughs again. I imagine him running his hand through his hair, pacing around his dorm. “I-I haven’t. Um. You probably don’t care about that though. You… you probably hate me. I would. Uh, hate me, I mean. I—uh… never mind. You probably won’t listen to this. So... I don’t know why I’m wasting my time. I—I guess a part of me was hoping you’d pick up. To prove that I hadn’t fucked up big time. Clearly I have. And—and I knew that. I was just… hoping. That’s probably pretty stupid though. So… yeah. I, um… I just wanted to tell you I’m happy for you. I—I hope you’re doing well. Or—better than me at least.”

He takes a shaky breath in, a croak coming through the speaker like he’s going to say something but stops himself. And for a moment, I think he might’ve stopped himself from saying I love you. When he speaks, he speaks in a small, weak voice that I’ve only ever heard him use when he’s at his worst. He says, “Uh, anyway… um. Bye.”

The voicemail ends.

He thinks I’ve moved on. He thinks I hate him. He genuinely thinks it’s possible for me to do either of those things.

My phone was ringing in the car because it was his last attempt to contact me. If I’d have glanced at my screen instead of turning off my ringer instantly, would I’ve answered? Or would I’ve left it ringing until it went to voicemail? Or would I’ve declined the call?

I still have his messages to read. All nine of them.

Stan fidgets, looking guilty. “Kyle was the one to tell Cartman about you and Nelly. Back in January. It was an accident. He didn’t mean for it to slip out. We thought Cartman hadn’t heard since he didn’t say anything about it. It turns out not so. Sorry,” he mumbles.

“I-it’s all right,” I say absentmindedly. I’m too distracted reading Eric’s text messages to me.

**6:40 p.m.   is it cool if i call u**

**6:41 p.m.   thats probably a dumb question**

**6: 59 p.m.   why am i even bothering? u probably dont care**

**7:01 p.m.   i sound so desperate**

**7:05 p.m.   but im happy for u and nelly**

**7:15 p.m.   i just thought i should mention it**

**7:16 p.m.   not that u need my approval to date someone**

**7:23 p.m.   im gonna leave u alone now. sorry for bothering u**

It’s 7:36 now. It’s been thirteen minutes since his last text message.

I don’t wanna leave him on read. But I have to. I remember how nervous he would get when I would leave him on read when we were together. Especially in the start of the relationship. It wouldn’t surprise me if it’ll still make him nervous. But I hope he’ll understand that I can’t text back and have him reply, only for the conversation to die out a few minutes later. I just can’t risk the reality of the metaphor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I bet you think I either moved on or hate you  
> ‘Cause each time you reach out, there’s no reply  
> I bet it never, ever occurred to you  
> That I can’t say hello to you  
> And risk another goodbye..."  
> -I Almost Do


	26. Kenny McCormick

**College, sophomore year.**

When I come home from Henrietta’s, it’s past midnight. Stan and Kyle are still up. They were watching TV until I walked in. I take off my jacket and shoes, ignoring their stares.

“Is Leo sleeping?” I whisper.

I pray that they won’t say he’s out with Nelly. If they do, that pooling dread might just come back.

“Yeah,” Kyle says, relieving me of that kind of hurt.

“Okay. I’m going to bed too. Night,” I say.

“Night,” they murmur.

I have the door open a crack, just about to walk in, when Stan adds, “Cartman called Butters earlier. He left a voicemail and a few messages. They were about Nelly.”

I pause, standing in my doorway. My throat closes up. “How’d Leo react?” I ask.

“He went into his room after listening to the voicemail and reading the messages. When he didn’t come out for a while. I checked. His door was locked. I could hear him crying,” Stan says. “I don’t think he ever replied.”

They didn’t mention Leo with Nelly, and yet the dread pools in the pit of my stomach. I force a nod, saying nothing. I close my door behind me. I strip down to my boxers. I get under the covers, keeping my blankets tight around my shoulders.

I hate how Leo’s still suffering from the wounds Cartman left on him. In December, I realized that that broken thing in Leo wasn’t something to be fixed. Cartman had ripped his heart out of his chest with no way to give it back. He left Leo unfixable. And the worst part about it is that he didn’t mean to.

That’s what I was talking to Henrietta about. I didn’t fuck her like Stan and Kyle assume. If I told them we just talked, they wouldn’t believe me.

After work, I’d gone to Henrietta’s to confide in her about the situation with Leo. Lately, the way I feel about him has changed. It happened in December before I realized the permanent damage. I talked to her about seeing him with Nelly on Christmas Eve. How it felt like a blow to the chest.

She had my head in her lap as I talked to her. She was stroking my hair, keeping quiet as she listened. There was no intimate contact aside from that.

“Maybe you’re… into him?” she’d suggested after I finished pouring out every thought swimming around my brain.

When she’d said it, I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. It was so obvious. “I am,” I’d said, so sure. “But I don’t think I’m into him. That doesn’t describe it well enough.”

Her hand had stilled on my cheek. “Do you love him?”

I’d stared up at her, my mouth agape. It didn’t sound far-fetched. It sounded right on point. “What I feel towards him isn’t like what I felt towards you though,” I’d said.

“It doesn’t have to be the same. I mean, I believe that love feels different for each person you fall in love with. With one person, like could feel like a roller coaster. With ecstatic screams and rushing adrenaline. While other loves can feel like a light breeze, something that makes you feel calm,” she’d said.

I fell silent. “Remember that night we tried to get into that club when we were sixteen? And the bouncer was looking at my fake ID. I was almost positive he knew it was fake and was about to call me out for it. My heart was pounding, and I was starting to sweat. But when he let me in, I was relieved. That’s what loving you felt like. But with Leo… it’s something heavier. Like when you’re underwater, and the deeper you go, the more pressure you feel on your chest. And then suddenly you’re in desperate need for breath. So you swim up as fast as you can. And you take that big, gasping breath, and that pressure leaves. Like being underwater made you forget what it was like to breathe, and suddenly you’re breathing again, and it’s the best thing ever.”

Henri hummed, and I could feel it in her fingertips. “So with me it was like holding your breath and finally being able to breathe out. With him it’s like holding your breath and finally being able to breathe in,” she said.

“Exactly.”

She’d tilted her head. “Interesting.”

“But he’s with Nelly—or not even. They’re just fucking. He’s still all over Cartman. And whenever I try to, like, hint at something by touching his face or whatever, he lets me, but then he pulls away. I don’t get it. I can tell he wants me to do something, but he never lets me do it,” I’d ranted.

“Are you sure it’s not you holding _yourself_ back? Have you even _tried_ to kiss him?”

“I’ve thought about it.”

“But have you ever put that thought into action?”

“...No.”

“There you go.”

I sat up, holding her face in both hands to look her in the eye. “But I can’t deal with being rejected. I don’t even want that to be a possibility!”

“So you’re willing to hover in this limbo without ever knowing how he feels about you? For what? So your feelings don’t get hurt? You don’t even know if they will!”

I’d stood, pacing her floor. “But I don’t want it to even be a _possibility!”_ I repeated.

Henrietta pursed her lips. “Kenny…”

“I know—I just know he wouldn’t want me. He’s with Nelly, and even if he wasn’t, he’s still hung up on Cartman! I mean, they were together six _years!_ How would I compare to that?”

Henri stood too, stepping in front of me and holding my wrists. “You _wouldn’t._ You’re not Cartman. Is that what you're worried about? That you wouldn’t amount to him? Butters would understand that you’re not him. Just… be there for him. As yourself. Without trying to reach for some nonexistent standard you think he’s set.”

Something in my mind clicked into place, taking me back to senior year, at my locker, what Cartman had said to me. _Take care of him… I want you to love him in the ways I couldn’t. Protect him like you always have._ At the time, the words made no sense. Did Cartman know this would happen? Did he know it would end like this? And then having Henrietta say that...

I’d stared her in the face. Her expression was so fierce and determined, like she knew I’d be able to get Leo if I just tried. I’d kissed her, a simple peck on the lips. “Thank you,” I’d said.

She’d blinked in surprise, her hands sliding down to my elbows. “Sure. Just—when you do start dating him, remember that you can’t go around kissing your exes.”

I’d laughed, pulling her in for a hug. I tucked her head under my chin, squeezing her tight. “What would I do without you, princess?” I’d murmured into her hair.

“I don’t know. But you can’t call me princess anymore either.” She pulled back, holding me at arm’s length.

“Can I still call you Henri?” I’d asked.

She shrugged. “Sure.” She’d smiled mischievously. “Now you go talk to him. Figure out where you stand in his heart.”

And I’d left, confidence pumping through my veins like a second blood.

Unable to fall asleep, I go through Instagram, which probably won’t help me fall asleep, but what else can you do?

It’s almost four a.m. when my door opens. I drop my phone to my chest, staring at Leo’s silhouette in the doorway. “Leo?” I whisper.

He shifts on his feet. He sniffles. “C-can I sleep with you tonight?” he asks. His voice shakes, and I know he’s crying. And I know what he’s crying over.

My heart cracks right down the middle. I sit up, extending my arms towards him. He closes the door, crawling into my embrace. With my arms around him and his face tucked into my neck, he cries freely. His warm tears roll down my chest. He keeps his arms tight around me. I rub his back, whispering in his ear, “It’s okay, Leo. I’m here. I’m right here.”

It makes him cry harder, pressing his mouth into my skin to muffle his sobs. I lower us onto our backs, stroking his hair.

I’ve become good at comforting him while hiding the gnawing behind my ribs. He doesn’t ever notice. At least, that’s what I hope. I don’t want him to know I’m hurting. Then he’ll try to comfort me when he needs it more.

My heart hurts because he’s crying. My heart hurts because he’s still eating his heart out over Cartman. Because he’s attempting to substitute that grief with Nelly. My heart hurts because I’m in love with him.

Eventually, his sobs lessen to a quivering silence. I run my fingers over the length of his arm, unable to resist taking his hand in mine. I line our fingers. “Do you wanna talk about it?” I whisper. I pull the blankets over us.

He sighs. “They probably told you he called me, huh?” he says, referencing Stan and Kyle telling me about Cartman.

“Yeah,” I say. It’s impossible to lie to him when he’s in this state. But I wouldn’t be able to lie to him, even if I had to. Which is why I hope he never asks how I feel about him. Because I would have to tell him the truth, and that might mess us up.

“Well. It was just another dreamory. About him.”

Dreamory is the word he came up with for the past memories he has of him and Cartman in dream form.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It was of when he, um… when he first told me he loved me,” he says. "Back in fourth grade." He takes his hand from mine to splay his fingers over my heart.

“Oh,” I say.

He sighs deeply again, nuzzling into my shoulder. Then he stills, and he’s fallen asleep.

Leo’s never come into my room. I always go to him. When he’d stopped screaming, I would still wake up in the middle of the night because I could sense him crying. I’d go to him and hold him until he fell asleep in my arms. And I’d wish that one day he’d be okay enough to realize what I feel for him.

Now with him in my room, it’s almost like the opposite. It’s like he’s in here for me. He helps me fall asleep just as much as I help him. My eyes get heavy, and I suppress a yawn. When I turn onto my side to hold Leo better, his hand stays over my heart.

 

I wake up before my alarm, turning it off before it can start blaring and wake Leo. I don’t want to have to leave his arms. I lay there for a minute, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if it’s really worth it to leave him, warm in my bed. Deciding that I have to go, I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I stand, about to go to my closet to find something to wear, but fingers circle my wrist.

I turn, seeing Leo awake. He’s clutching my wrist, a wild look in his eyes. He looks afraid. “You’ll come back, right?” he whispers, his voice meek.

His question brings back that sting behind my ribs. He’s asking it like I might just abandon him here without a goodbye. Like Cartman did. He really thinks I could ever damage him like that.

I envelope my fingers in his. “Of course I will,” I assure him.

He looks like he might cry again. He tightens his hold on my fingers. “Are you sure?”

I sit back on the bed, petting his hair. “I’m positive. And hey, how about we go get Subway for lunch? I’ll come pick you up from your class. Sound good?”

He nods, head falling back to the pillow.

I stay sitting, staring at him staring at me. I feel like I should kiss him. And I feel like it’s what he’s waiting for. I know Henrietta said that I should try putting my thoughts into action. But whenever I have these thoughts, it’s always at an inappropriate time.

I don’t kiss him. I run my hand down his hair, my thumb grazing his cheek. And he blinks his big blue eyes up at me. I take my hand away, stepping into the closet to change. When I come back into my room, Leo’s back is to me, and his breathing is getting deeper.

I go to my door, opening it. To him, I whisper, “Try not to sleep in too much.”

He nods.

I close the door, going into the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal. Kyle’s up, tying his shoes. “Another night terror?” he asks.

“Yep,” I say, taking the Lucky Charms from the cupboard.

“About Cartman?”

“Mm-hm.” I pour the cereal into a bowl.

“You good?”

I turn to him, snorting a laugh. “Why would you think I’m not?”

He gives me a deadpan look. “It’s obvious, Kenny. If anyone were to see the way you look at him, they would know your true emotions for him in an instant.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say nonchalantly. I take the milk from the fridge and pour it into my bowl.

Kyle sighs. “Fine. Stay in denial.” He stands up and walks to the front door. But he pauses to say, “And trust me when I say staying in denial only makes you want him more.”

Then he’s gone.

He’s talking about him and Stan. They were in denial about each other since Cartman started pointing it out as early as third grade. Kyle had once said that he started dating Heidi as a distraction from Stan and Wendy, but he ended up falling in love with her without meaning too. Kyle’s always had something for Heidi, ever since fourth grade. I guess the sight of Stan and Wendy put those feelings into motion. And Stan had said that he broke up with Wendy because he realized that Cartman had been right all along, and he really _was_ in love with his super best friend, full homo. When Kyle had heard about the breakup, it had unleashed his old feelings for Stan that had been locked up so his feelings for Heidi could be what he focused on.

They did some talking, and they sorted out their situation. And now they’ve been dating for a year.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I saw this come to life with Kevin and Shelly when they stopped talking to each other for awhile when they were in high school. I saw it in Stan and Kyle. I see it in myself for Leo.

It’s normal to want something you can’t have. It’s the fun of working for it to see if you can even get it. It’s awesome when you do, but it sucks when you don’t.

 

I wait for Leo outside his classroom when I get out of my own class. My class ends fifteen minutes before his, so I sit on the ground, my back against the wall, waiting for him.

When he comes out of the door, I get to my feet. The smile he sends me throws my stomach into a dryer, tumbling and turning. “You came!” he says, walking over to me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” I ask as I hug him back.

He shrugs. “I knew you would, but I kept doubting it.”

When I laugh, it’s nervous. “Oh.”

We walk to my car and drive to the Subway. When we have our sandwiches, I ask him, “How come you were doubting I’d come?”

He’s sitting in front of me. He swallows his bite before saying, “My judgement’s not the best right now.”

I lift my chin to say something. I decide against it, fitting for a nod.

We continue to eat, making small talk. His shoe knocks against mine a lot, but I can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. I’m talking about my Social Psychology class. He has his chin in his hand as he listens to me talk. He has this faint smile on his face that makes my heart sputter. My words falter and a thought shoots through my brain.

For someone studying psychology and the human behavior, I’m pretty bad at it. The way he hugged me coming out of his class should’ve been the first tell. We’ve gone out to get lunch a few times before, and he’s never hugged me. And then there’s the whole bumping his shoe against mine thing. And now the way he’s staring at me.

He smiles. “Continue what you’re saying, Ken. I’m listenin’,” he says.

I must’ve stopped mid-sentence. I blink a couple times, trying to remember how to speak. “Oh, sorry. Um… what was I talking about again?”

He laughs, his nose wrinkling and his scar crinkling. “How you can tell a lot about a person just by their posture,” he says.

“Oh, right.” I pause, unable to remember how you can tell a lot about a person by posture. “Why don’t you tell me about what went on in your lecture?" I say.

He laughs again. It makes me smile. I haven’t heard him laugh in pure joy in so long. “Are you sure? It’s kinda boring,” he warns.

“I’m, like, a thousand percent sure,” I say.

He smiles. “Well, the whole class is about software development. It’s pretty funny ‘cause there’s this one guy who you can tell he doesn’t wanna be there…”

He continues on, and all I can think about is how happy he looks, and how happy he sounds. There’s a light in his eyes. And that smile never leaves his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again  
> Over him..."  
> -ghostin


	27. Butters Stotch

**College, sophomore year.**

The view of the city from the window’s amazing. Especially at night, when you can see the lights of all the buildings around. It creates a hazy effect through the glass, little streaks of light. I reach out to the glass, and my fingers pass through. The glass ripples like touching the calm water of a pond, the rings expanding outward. I have no reflection, the orbs of color drifting away. When the ripples still, the cluster of city buildings are gone, replaced by a fading pink sky. There are fluffy clouds and the sound of the wind whistling in my ears. It breathes serenity in contrast to the busy life of the city. From where I stand, I can see the rooftops of the shops and houses all within sight. I recognized the view.

Up on the roofs of the U-Stor-It back home in South Park, this is what you see. I’ve seen this sky and these buildings for so many years of my life.

I turn in a circle, taking in the familiar sights around me. I’m alone on the roof. It doesn’t feel right, but I don’t know why.

The sky darkens right before my eyes, fading from pink to purplish-blue in a matter of seconds. That purplish-blue transforms into an eye, followed by a face. Wavy brown hair falls into both eyes, eyes that don’t match. The left’s brown, and the right has that blend of purple and blue.

A gentle hand lands on my cheek.

We stare at each other in silence, blue on mismatched. The wind tousles his hair, rustles his red clothes. The color seems to glow, but it could be the sun behind him.

“We made a mess in this town,” I tell Eric.

He smirks softly. “We ruled this town,” he corrects. His voice reverberates all around me, like the ripples of the glass window. His thumb moves in slow half circles. His smirk falls, a frown taking its place. “What happened to us?”

“Nothing did,” I say. “We were forces of nature, and the world wasn’t ready for us.”

His eyes glow vividly, and the light surrounding him grows brighter. “I could’ve made the world ready,” he says, his voice hard with determination.

A soft smile finds its way onto my mouth as I lean into his palm. The action blossoms warmth through my veins. “I know. But… it was supposed to happen this way,” I tell him. The words taste funny in my mouth, like they’re not supposed to be there. I can’t place the reason why.

“It was.” His thumb continues its steady motion. “Would you want to try again? With me?” he asks, his voice a whisper of the wind.

I open my mouth, ready to tell him yes. My answer falls from my lips in my own voice. It floats between us for both to hear. “In another life.”

His eyes see right into my soul. His jaw’s set. But he doesn’t look hurt. He looks like he’s heard the answer he was expecting. He dips his head in a nod. His hand slips off my face, dissolving into burning red embers from the fingertips up. The last remnants of him are his eyes looking into mine, floating orbs of brown and circling blue and purple. A gust of wind comes and sweeps them away.

I wake from the dream alone in my bed, the side of my face pressed into my pillow. Semidarkness blankets my room. It’s quiet and still. I reach up to touch my cheek, finding my fingertips dry. I don’t feel the tearing agony I usually do waking from dreams of Eric. I feel as if a pressure’s been lifted from my soul, letting it fill my body from whence it shrunk.

I sit up, the only sound being the rustling of bedsheets. I stare down at my hands, expecting them to glow gold around the edges. Because that’s how I feel—as if I’m glowing golden.

I’m unable to fall back asleep. Not because of the dream, but because I’ve been charged with a new kinda energy I’ve never felt before. I creep into the living room. The first of daybreak streaks the hardwood floor. When I step into a sliver, it warms my feet. It must not be more than six in the morning.

In nothing but a T-shirt and shorts, I step onto the balcony, sliding the door shut behind me. I sit in one of the two chairs, looking out to the sky and the empty field behind the complex. The sun warms my skin.

I think back to the dream before it drifts away from my memory. Pieces are already missing.

I recognized that first view, the one of the city behind the glass. I drew a skyline just like it on the day Eric walked into my room when we were thirteen and he asked to kiss me. It came to life in the dream. And that window’s the same as the one in Eric’s dorm in Philadelphia. The one overlooking the city. I recall Eric in front of me on the roof of the U-Stor-It. I remember the scintillating color of his irises. His right eye churned like a whirlpool in slow motion, blue to violet and back to blue. A never ending cycle. I can still see the way he disintegrated into bright red embers, floating on the gusts of wind.

A gust of wind in the real world breezes by to caress my skin.

I pull my legs up onto the chair, hugging my arms around them. I rest my cheek on my knee as I watch the sun rise, taking its rightful place in the vast blue sky.

I finally understand why he did it. After eight months, I finally understand why Eric broke up with me. He said I’d be happier without him. Then, I couldn’t see how that was possible. He was a part of me. But just because he’s gone doesn’t mean he’s no longer a part of me. I see that now. He’ll always be a piece of who I am. He’s my past, not my present. Not my future. Losing him sparked a wildfire that raged for months. It burned down acres of trees and grass and flowers, leaving smoke to choke the air and ashes to scatter the ground. But now, the grass is starting to flourish over the singed ground, saplings ready to grow into steady trees, flowers opening up to the sunlight.

Spring’s the transition of fall to summer. Spring’s the turning point of something cold to something warm. Spring’s the season of growth, where seeds sprout over dead grass, charred trunks, burnt petals. Spring’s where a rainbow of color blooms, overpowering the shades of orange and brown.

Fifteen minutes later, a single knock on the balcony doors makes my head turn. Kyle stands on the other side, his fist still up, his mouth agape. “Butters? What are you doing out there?” he asks, his voice muffled.

I lean over, pulling open the door. “Watching the sunrise,” I tell him.

He steps onto the balcony, sitting in the chair next to mine. He glances out to the distance, then back to me. “Are you okay? Do you want me to get Kenny—?” He’s about to stand, but I grab his wrist.

“I’m fine, Kyle. Let Kenny sleep. I’ve been deprivin’ it of him lately.”

He looks like he wants to protest. He lowers himself back into his chair instead. He looks out, the sun making his curls fiery. “You don’t start until eight. Why are you up so early?”

“I had a dream.”

He jerks back, blinking at me.

“Not a bad dream,” I say, keeping my eyes trained on the drifting clouds. “It was a good dream. I woke up calm.”

Kyle’s still as he processes the information. “That’s good,” he says eventually.

“Yeah,” I breathe.

Kyle shifts. “Um… Want me to make you breakfast? I was gonna make scrambled eggs.”

I nod. “Thanks, Kyle.”

He stands, squeezing my shoulder before going back into the apartment. He takes the scrambled eggs out to me when they’re finished. He sits with me in the spring air, eating in silence.

After we finish, I help him wash our dishes and thereof sat in the sink for a week. He seems perturbed by my willing attitude. When he hears me humming as I load the dishwasher, he freezes, staring at me.

I smile at him, taking the wet plate from his hands. “You do so much for us, Kyle. I just thought I’d help out for once. Stan and Kenny aren’t exactly the cleanest,” I say. I bend down to put it with the other plates. “Kenny’s working two jobs, and Stan’s classes are pretty strict, plus he has his internship at the vet, so they’ve don’t got much time to do household chores. You’re always the one to load the dishwasher and keep the apartment clean. I just thought I’d be of use.”

I push in the rack, closing the dishwasher and starting it.

Kyle’s jaw snaps shut. “Oh—wow. Okay. Thanks, Butters.”

I nod at him, still smiling. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Have fun in class.”

I leave him stunned in the kitchen.

In the shower, I sing for the first time in a while. I sing any song that comes to mind, even if I don’t know all the words. My hair gets plastered to my eyes under the water. I have to constantly push it back when I open up a bottle of shampoo or otherwise so I can see what I’m doing.

“I should get a haircut,” I mutter to myself. “Maybe tomorrow.”

As I towel off, I find myself dancing in the mirror, beaming in a way that even I haven’t seen on my face in months. I draw a happy face in the foggy mirror, scrunching up my nose at it as I grin.

I march into my room with the beat I’m singing. I throw on my pale yellow shirt with the blue words “Runaway” printed on the collar. It’s my favorite shirt.

I grab my backpack under my desk, slinging it over my shoulders. In the living room, I sit on the floor to put on my shoes. I can feel Kenny and Stan staring at me. Kyle’s already gone. I spring to my feet, flashing them a grin. “See ya, fellas!” I say.

I’m an hour early, but not because I’m eager to get to class. The door to the Technical Communication class opens. Nelly’s the first to exit. She walks over to me. “Hey, Butters,” she says.

“I need to talk to you,” I say, taking her hand and dragging her out to the courtyard. I sit us on the steps.

“What’s up?” she asks, checking her reflection in her compact mirror. She snaps it closed, looking to me.

“I think we should stop seein’ each other,” I say.

She tilts her head in confusion. “Huh?”

I take her hands in mine again, intertwining our fingers. “What are we?” I ask.

She gives me a look. “I mean, I’ve been with you for longer than most guys, so not just a fuck buddy. But we aren’t dating either.” She takes a breath in, running her thumbs over my knuckles absentmindedly as she looks up at the sky. She pouts, but that’s just her resting face. “I guess I consider you my boyfriend, but only because, like I said, I’ve been seeing you longer than most,” she says.

I nod. “And I considered you my girlfriend. But I don’t want that anymore.”

The side of her face scrunches up. “Like you don’t wanna be girlfriend-boyfriend anymore?”

“Yep!”

“Like, you wanna break up but it’s not really breaking up because we weren’t together in the first place?” she says.

“Yep!”

She nods in approval. “Cool. So I’ll see you around?”

“I’ll see you in an hour,” I remind her.

She laughs. “Oh yeah. Forgot about that.” She takes her hand from mine. “I have an extra yogurt in my backpack. Want one?”

“Sure.”

We snack on the yogurts, going over what happened last week in the class we share. It’s funny how casual that “breakup” was. But those kinds of breakups are the best because no feelings are hurt. Kyle and Heidi’s breakup was casual, and they still talk to this day.

Nelly and I were never close in high school, and definitely not elementary school. But I think over this whole thing, we’ve become friends. Even though we’ve only been broken up for five minutes, I realize I like her better as my friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We made quite a mess, babe  
> It’s probably better off this way  
> And I confess, babe  
> In my dreams, you’re touching my face  
> And asking me if I want to try again with you  
> And I almost do..."  
> -I Almost Do


	28. Kenny McCormick

**College, sophomore year.**

All week, Leo’s been rejuvenated. It fills the rest of us with a new energy. The whole apartment buzzes with euphoria. It makes me smile to see him run around the apartment, helping out in whatever way he can. He’s constantly smiling and laughing. It’s almost like he’s back to who he used to be, except a grown version of the childhood joy he lost. His smile lights up the whole room. It makes me hate to leave for class and not come home until after work. I long for that smile all day.

A customer steps up to the counter, ordering a tall black coffee, milk but no sugar. I take their card, running it through the register. He takes it back and finds a table to sit at.

In high school, Tweek and I would work Wednesdays and Fridays together. It was funner like that. I had a friend to gossip to about drama or rude customers. Tweek would pretend to hate how I talked shit about the customers, but I knew he secretly loved it. Tweek Bros isn’t the same without him.

I get the dude’s coffee, my mind drifting back to Leo, who’s also at work. It’s amusing to see him grin at any little thing. Just thinking about it makes me melt like a fucking lovestruck teenager. I was never one of those people in school to tumble head over heels and stare with heart eyes. But Leo makes me feel like that.

Admittedly, it sucks.

Because why, of all people, did it have to be Leo? He’s my best friend. I helped him out of his fourth grade angst. He helped me past cheesing. He dated one of my closest friends for six years.

When they were still together, I was normally fine with it. I thought they were good for each other. But then there were days when I envied Cartman for taking all of Leo’s attention. I missed Leo’s smile and his laugh, and Cartman was taking all of it for himself. And on those rare days where just me and Leo hung out, it felt like taking that deep breath in from being underwater for so long.

So why him? Why—even after all that time we spent apart because we were caught up in our own lives—do I keep finding myself drawn back to him?

Mrs. Tweak puts her hand on my shoulder, taking the coffee from my hands. I look at her, startled. She caps the coffee, taping the receipt to it, setting it on the counter, and calling out the dude’s name. Then she turns back to me, holding me an arm’s length. Her brows are furrowed in concern. “Are you okay, Kenny?” she asks, putting the back of her hand over my forehead.

“Um, yeah. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She purses her lips. She looks so much like Tweek when she does that. Even down to the light spray of freckles over her wrinkling skin. “You’re staring off into space. Do you want to talk about it?” she says.

“I am? Sorry. I’ll, uh, I’ll try to pay attention.” I move to go back to the counter, but she grabs me again, this time by my face.

Her eyes search mine. If I just stare at her eyes, I can pretend she’s Tweek. They share the same blue-green fade of their irses. “You should go home,” she suggests.

My gaze drifts back to the register. “No. I’m fine. Really. I can finish my shift—”

_“Kenny.”_

I close my mouth, looking at her. Mrs. Tweak’s pretty face doesn’t often take on the stern side. She looks intimidating when it does though.

“I’m a mother. My kid had severe anxiety. I know when something’s on you kids’ minds. Go home. Get some rest. Meditate. That always helped Tweek.” Her eyes gloss over saying his name, and I wonder how much she misses him. Tweek and his mom got close after their relationship became estranged when Tweek found out his dad put meth in his coffee.

He and Craig need to visit more often.

“Are you sure? Because I can finish. I only have an hour left,” I insist.

Mrs. Tweak waves a hand. She straightens my jacket. “Get some rest, Kenny. You do so much here. I can finish up. Richard and I were going to close up early anyway,” she says.

“Okay,” I say, not really wanting to argue with her any further.

She nods, smoothing out my bangs, obscuring my vision. “You need a haircut,” she comments. “Go get a haircut.”

“Yes ma'am.”

She smiles as she takes my name tag. I round the counter, heading for the door. “Thanks, Mrs. Tweak,” I say, pushing open the door.

She shoots me a distracted smile, already taking the order of another customer.

In a way, it’s almost like I haven’t left South Park since I never bothered looking for a job closer to school. But it’s good too. Because I can drop surprise checks on Karen.

I drive to the Tuckers’ residence, knowing that if Karen isn’t there, she’s with Firkle. At the front door, I knock, waiting for someone to answer. A bubble of gum pops in my face. “She’s not here.”

I blink at Tricia, not recognizing her at first. She leans on the doorframe, arms crossed, observing me with narrowed eyes. “May I help you?” she asks.

“Karen’s not here?” I ask, just to make sure she isn’t lying. There have been times Karen has Tricia lie for her so she can evade my questions.

She gives me a shake of her head. “No siree.”

“So where is she?” I already know the answer.

Tricia shrugs, turning her head and looking into the house. Ike’s sprawled out on the couch, playing some video game on the TV. “Ike, didn’t Karen leave school with Firkle?”

Distractedly, he mumbles, “Uh-huh.”

Tricia looks back to me. “There you have it.” She rights herself, hand on the door, about to close it.

I put a hand on the door. “Is everything okay between you two?” I ask her.

Tricia snorts, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Duh. Why wouldn’t we be? Last week we snuck into the back of the Peppermint Hippo and put on, like, the tops of the costumes. We went out into the stage one by one. People actually threw money at us before the bouncer realized we weren't dancers. So we grabbed the money and ran. That was the week you should’ve checked in with her. We almost got arrested,” she explains, a light in her eyes.

“You almost got _arrested?”_ I repeat. Dimly, I'm aware I'm questioning the wrong thing. My sister and her best friend literally snuck into a strip club and pretended to be strippers.

“Yeah. I talked the bouncer out of calling the cops though. He let us keep the money too. It was at least two hundred for each of us.”

I look to Ike on the couch. “Were you there?” I ask him.

He glances at me. “Yeah. Firkle was the one to get us in,” he says.

Tricia jerks a thumb at her boyfriend. “It was his idea.”

I laugh, worry slipping from my shoulders. “So you guys inherited our taste for danger, huh?”

Tricia smiles and nods. “Definitely. So yeah, she’s with Firkle. She’s been staying with him lately.” She winces knowingly, eyeing me. In middle school, Kevin often encouraged Karen and me to stay at friends’ houses when our parents were drunk and high. Karen stayed at Tricia’s a lot. Doesn’t sound like that’s the case anymore.

I run my lip through my teeth. “Interesting,” I muse. Tricia smirks, closing the door. I start down the steps, back to my car.

“Oh, wait!”

I turn back to her.

“You didn’t hear it from me though. Or Ike. If she asks, tell her you just had a hunch,” she says.

“Sure thing.”

I get into my car, driving a couple blocks to Firkle’s house. When I get there, I ring the doorbell. After a few beats, the door gets pulled open. At first, Firkle looks annoyed. But then he realizes it’s me, and the look falls from his face.

“Kenny,” he says.

“Who is it?” Karen’s voice asks from within the house.

I peer past Firkle’s shoulder, grinning at my sister’s gaping face. “Hey, Kare.”

“Shit,” she mutters. She gets to her feet from the couch, pushing past Firkle to stand in front of me. She has to look up to me though. Kevin’s the tallest of us all, being 6’3. Then me at 5’11. But Karen got the short gene. She’s only 5’2. “Hi, Ken.”

“How long have you been staying with Firkle?” I ask.

She tilts her head at me. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve been staying with him.” I motion to Firkle.

He lifts a hand, the gesture saying, _What’d I do?_

Karen’s face falls to a pout, then a scowl. “Damn you, Ruby,” she hisses.

I take a lock of lilac hair in between my fingers. When Tricia first dyed her hair back when they were in first grade, I wasn’t happy. I liked Karen’s dirty blonde hair the way it was. But I’m used to it now. I like it. “How long have you been staying here?” I ask her.

She whines, pitching forward and pulling me into a hug. I wrap my arms around her. “Only three weeks,” she whimpers.

“Three weeks!” I exclaim.

Karen just squeezes me tighter.

“You hugging me harder won’t make me stop asking you questions,” I deadpan.

“I know,” she says. Her hold loosens.

I pat her head, pulling back. “I just wanted to check in,” I tell her. I smile, chucking her chin. “I mean, I heard you and Tricia went stripping when I missed last week. After all, I don’t want to miss a surprise greeting next time and find out you’re pregnant.”

Her jaw drops, smacking my arm. “I will _not,”_ she screeches through red cheeks. Her eyes fly to Firkle for a split second before refocusing on me. "And I won't become a stripper either."

I keep my gaze fixated on him. I point a finger at him. “Don’t get her pregnant. I’ll kill you if you do,” I warn, half joking. "Make sure she doesn't become a stripper."

"I won't!" Karen exclaims.

Firkle gapes, his pale face red, his brown eyes wide.

Karen puts her hands on my chest, pushing me back. “Get _out_ of here,” she whines.

I take a few steps back, still pointing at Firkle in warning. Karen walks back to the door, whirling around to stick her tongue out at me. Then she slams the door shut. It flies open a second later. Her head pokes out. She grins at me. “Love you.” The door closes again.

I laugh, shaking my head.

I drop the keys to my car on the counter back home after getting that haircut Mrs. Tweak said I needed. Kyle and Stan are in the kitchen, laughing as they attempt to make dinner together. Kyle gives Stan’s shoulder a shove. “Stir the fucking thing,” he says.

“I am!” Stan protests between laughs.

Kyle looks at me. “What? We’re giving you and Butters a break from making dinner for once,” he says.

“You’re gonna burn down the whole building,” I say, smirking.

“Then that’s probably gonna be Stan’s fault,” Kyle jokes.

Stan reaches up to Kyle to give his head a playful shove. “Fuck you, dummy.”

Kyle grins and pinches Stan’s ear.

“It’s gonna be both of your faults if you can’t stop flirting for two seconds and focus on whatever you’re cooking,” I say.

“Yeah, _Stan,”_ Kyle says, getting in his face.

Stan bares his teeth at him, nose wrinkled. Then he grabs Kyle’s face and plants a kiss on his mouth. Kyle kisses Stan’s jaw, wrapping his arm around his waist. Kyle rests his head on top of Stan’s, even though they’re only two inches apart in height. So I guess he more rests his head on the back of Stan’s neck.

I laugh. “You guys are weird.”

“Okay, dude,” Stan says.

I lift my head. “Leo’s not home?”

“Nah,” Kyle says. “You’re home early though.”

“Mrs. Tweak told me to go home.”

“What’d you do?” Stan asks.

“Stare off blankly, I guess. I’m gonna go study. Don’t fuck on the counter,” I say, ducking as a wooden spoon flies over my head. “Real mature, Kyle!” I shout from the safety of my room.

I throw my backpack onto my bed before jumping after it. I haul my textbook from my bedside table, flipping to the pages my professor said to look over.

At 7:23 p.m., my bedroom door opens. I look over the top of my textbook sitting on my stomach. I close it, laying it next to me as Leo crawls onto my bed, putting his head on my chest. The action startles me, but it warms me from my toes up. His left hand rests on my shoulder, his fingers feeling the material of my shirt.

“Can you sing to me? Like you used to when I had real bad nightmares? I love it when you sing to me. You have such a nice voice,” he says. He looks up at me, his eyes wide with hope.

I put my hand on his back. I work words from my throat. “Uh, sure. Any requests?”

He nuzzles into me, and my heartbeat speeds up. “You choose. It’s better that way,” he says.

“Okay.” I put my other hand on his arm, his skin warm. I open my mouth, and I start to sing.

_“Wise men say only fools rush in_

_But I can’t help falling in love with you...”_

In the short pause, I mentally kick myself, thinking, _Good going, Kenny. You couldn’t have made yourself any more obvious._

The pause passes, and I continue,

_“Shall I stay?_

_Would it be a sin? If I can’t help falling in love with you…”_

My cheeks heat. I’m thankful he isn’t looking up at my face currently. If the song hasn’t given me away, my blush surely will.

_“Like a river flows_

_Surely to the sea_

_Darling, so it goes_

_Some things are meant to be…”_

Leo sighs something happy, his breath fanning out on my neck starting to sweat. I feel his body relax against mine.

_“Take my hand_

_Take my whole life too_

_For I can’t help falling in love with you…”_

Leo’s runs his fingers over my earrings. With each pass, my earrings clink lightly against each other. His touch electrifies me, but it makes my voice warble during the next line.

_“Like a river flows_

_Surely to the sea_

_Darling, so it goes_

_Some things are meant to be…”_

Leo starts humming along as I sing the last part.

_“Take my hand, take my whole life, too_

_For I can’t help falling in love with you_

_For I can’t help falling in love with you.”_

There’s a pass of silence between us. During this silence, my mind races. What if he knows? What if he hates me now? Did I just ruin everything?

He pulls me out of my thoughts when he says in a sleepy voice, “I love that song.”

“Me too,” I breathe.

“Can you sing it to me every day?”

“For as long as you want me to.”

“Forever then.”

I blush again. This time he looks up at me. He doesn’t say anything about it though. He just smiles softly and slides his right arm under my neck. His left arm touches the spot under my left ear. “When’d you get this tattoo?” he asks.

He’s talking about the new cross tattoo I got. “A week or so ago. With Henrietta." I wish I hadn’t added the last part in case he still thinks I have feelings for her.

“I like it. How come I've never seen it before?”

"Probably because my hair was covering it."

He lifts my left arm, grazing his fingers over my _Eternal_ tattoo. “I like this one too,” he says.

“You know Henri and I aren’t together anymore,” I blurt.

His hand slides into mine as he peers up at me. “I know.”

“Um.” I feel stupid now. Why the actual fuck did I say that? He knows we aren’t together anymore. What am I worried about? That he still thinks I go to Henrietta to have a wild time in her bed? He probably thinks that regardless.

Leo’s fingers feel the five earrings on my left ear again. “Can you pierce my ears?” he asks.

I look down at him. His face is so close to mine. If I were to close the couple inches between us, my lips would be on his. I erase that thought from my mind instantly before my stupid self actually tries it. “Y-yeah. Totally,” I say.

I get up, already missing his warmth as I go to my bookcase and take my container with my piercing gun and the studs from its shelf. “I need to clean it first,” I tell him. “Meet me in the kitchen. The lighting’s better there.”

He nods, getting up and leaving my room. He leaves the door open. I stare after him for a moment before shaking myself out of it and going into the bathroom to disinfect the gun. When I have it dried off, I go out to the kitchen. The air is filled with savory smells that make my mouth water and the sound of sizzling and chatter over the hum of the range hood. Leo’s sat on one of the stools. I sit in front of him, taking out the assortment of studs. They’re all the same—round and stainless steel. I set down the rubbing alcohol and cotton balls.

“You want it like Stan’s?” I ask.

Stan turns at the mention of his name. He notices the stuff of the counter. He grins at Leo. “You’re getting your ears pierced?”

Leo nods.

“Awesome, dude.” Stan nudges Kyle. Kyle turns. “Butters is getting his ears pierced,” he says.

Kyle snorts. “Well, fuck. Now all of us will have some sort of piercing,” he says.

“Oh yeah! I always forget you’ve got a nose piercing,” Leo says to Kyle.

Kyle taps the diamond stud in his left nostril where it blends in with his freckles. Stan kisses him there.

“We’re gonna be the earring gang,” I joke. “Kyle, can you get me some gloves?”

“Ew, never say that again. The thing about the earring gang,” Kyle says, handing me the rubber gloves he gets from under the sink.

“Earring gang,” I say, just to provoke him.

He glares at me.

“Wait, how many piercings would that be total?” Stan asks. “In this apartment?”

I pull the gloves on. I say, “I have nine. You have two. Kyle has one. Leo’s gonna have his two. So—”

“Fourteen!” Leo says. He shakes my wrist. “When’re you gonna do it?”

“You need to tell me how you want it first,” I tell him.

“Like Stan’s.”

I take the marker and mark the spots on his lobes, pulling back to make sure they’re even. When I’ve confirmed they are, I pick up the gun, loaded with a stud. I look Leo in the eye. “You sure you wanna do this?” I ask.

“Of course! I’m feelin’ left out not bein’ the only one pierced,” he says.

“Okay. Do you want me to tell you when I’ll do it?”

“No,” he says. “Don’t tell me.”

“Okay. You’ll feel a little pinch.” I hold the gun up to his ear, aiming it for the spot I marked. I press the trigger. I pull back to put in another stud.

“That’s it? It didn’t hurt at all.” Leo’s hand goes up to his ear, but I slap him away.

“Don’t touch it. Only touch it when you’ve washed your hands to clean it,” I say.

“Got it.”

I pierce his other ear. I give him a mirror so he can look at them. He beams at me after looking at his reflection. “I love it, Ken!” he exclaims.

I grin. “I’m glad you do.”

He throws his arms around me, hugging me tight. I reciprocate instantly. Stan and Kyle trade a look before smirking at me. I flip them off, blushing. When Leo pulls back, he picks up the mirror again to admire his new piercings.

I push a bottle of cleaning solution towards him. “Clean those twice a day. In the morning and at night so it doesn’t get infected,” I instruct.

He nods. To Stan and Kyle, he says, “How do I look, fellas?”

“Edgy as hell,” Kyle jokes.

Stan says, “Like a new you.”

“I feel like a new me,” Leo says.

He beams at me again, and both my heart and stomach burst into a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I get weak and fall like a teenager  
> Why, oh why does God keep bringing me back to you?"  
> -everytime


	29. Butters Stotch

**College, sophomore year.**

I like to believe I’ve been enlightened ever since that dream of Eric floating off as embers. I feel as if my eyes have been opened to a world I haven’t been seeing right in front of me. I’m starting to see what Eric meant by me being better off without him. I don’t think I’m better without him though. Being without him just makes me a different person, neither good or bad.

I counted me realizing that I’m different without Eric as a good thing.

Last night, after Kenny serenaded me with “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” I stayed the night in his bed because I can’t sleep on my own. I haven’t slept on my own since the breakup. But him singing me that unlocked a door in my brain I didn’t even know was there. I haven’t opened that door though, for the fear of finding out what’s behind it.

It’s eleven at night. Tomorrow’s Thursday, and then Friday. I can’t wait for the weekend. Next week's final exams week. I yawn, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. “Imma go to bed,” I tell my friends.

They murmur an okay, their eyes all locked on the TV. They’re watching _The Exorcist_ despite it only being May. It’s a scary movie, but I haven’t found myself getting too scared, only sleepy. I used to be real afraid of scary movies. But nothing scares me anymore since losing Eric. Nothing scares me except for losing someone I love again.

I go into my room, muffling the sound of the TV when I close the door. I dive into bed and under the covers. I bury my face in my pillow. I never bothered getting rid of Eric’s pillow and the hoodie it wears. I haven’t sent back his stuff either. I don’t plan on it. That stuff’s mine now, along with his memory and the ghost of his kiss. He might not need memorabilia, but I do. It’s not that I need it because I’m still obsessively in love with him. I still love him, but that love’s faded to a dim fire that’ll burn eternally. I need it because getting rid of it would be like getting rid of him, and I don’t wanna do that.

His pillow still smells like him, faintly. Not lifting my face, I grab for Saturn on the right side of my bed. I hug him to my chest. Even he still smells like Eric’s cologne.

I fall asleep like that, my face pressed into Eric’s pillow, Saturn against my chest.

I wake up at two in the morning, my mouth dry. I reach for my bedside table, unscrewing the cap of my water bottle to gulp it down. Empty, I toss it near the trashcan by my door. I hear it miss, landing on the floor. I sigh, turning onto my back. I close my eyes, trying to fall back asleep.

I don’t. I find myself humming “Can’t Help Falling in Love” instead. It’s been stuck in my head since Kenny sang it to me. I’ve been hearing it play through my mind on and off throughout the days since. The sound of his voice was heavenly. The words sounded so sincere, even if he’s just singing a song. It made me feel so at peace. I never wanted it to end.

And that’s when the door I’ve unlocked in my head blows open, revealing what’s been hiding behind it all along.

Through the doorway, I see myself sobbing, unable to do anything except. Kenny has me in his lap, cradling me as he comforts me. He hugs me to him. I don’t even realize, too lost in my grief, that his eyes are pinched in pain too.

When I was down after the breakup, barely able to get out of bed, Kenny was there to make sure I was taken care of. He held me when I cried. He comforted me when I had dreamories. He’s understood that I was going through hurt.

And he hid it. So I could continue coming to him when I needed to.

My eyes snap open. I bolt upright, my head rushing from the speed.

Dread creeps up my neck. I put Kenny through all that. I put him through taking care of me and making sure I went on through my day by doing basic things like eating. And it never occurred to me once about how it would affect him. I blink, and I see the pain in his eyes at seeing me so broken enhanced behind my eyelids. He was hurting too. How did I not see it before?

A hollow sob echoes from my throat. I clap a hand over my mouth, not wanting Kenny to hear. I don’t want him to come rushing into my room to comfort me. He’s done enough of that. I’ve already put him through too much.

I throw off my blankets, running out of my room and into Kenny’s. He sits up in an instant, his arms already outstretched. I don’t crawl into them like I normally do. I push his arms away instead, tumbling with him onto the mattress.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I cry.

He stares at me, bewildered in the dark. “Tell you what?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting too? Why didn’t you tell me you hated seeing me like that? Why did you allow me to have you go through all that?” I demand, hopeless frustration sparking in my chest.

Kenny’s face falls, looking away. “I… I wanted to be strong for you,” he says.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t want you to worry about me while you could barely function yourself.”

A strangled cry comes from my mouth. “I hate myself,” I spit, glaring down at my hands. “I hate myself for doing this to you—”

Kenny grabs my wrists, staring me in the face. “Don’t say that. You didn’t do anything. I wanted to help you. It was my choice. And I’m gonna hate myself if you start hating yourself because of me,” he says.

My head falls to his chest. His arms wrap around me, his embrace familiar. Kenny never wears a shirt to bed. I always hate how I stain him with my tears. I hate how I interrupt his sleep because I need someone to take care of me. But he never acts like he minds. And I hate that.

I lift my head, glaring at him. “You shoulda said somethin’ about how you were feelin’,” I snap through gritted teeth, swiping at my tears.

He stares up at me, his violet eyes wide.

I cry harder, cupping his cheeks. “ ‘Cause I care about you, Kenny. Me bein’ so blind to your emotions makes me feel like an inconsiderate idiot. How can I care about you but not see your own pain? It makes me feel so—”

I’m cut off. Because Kenny’s lips have captured mine. My senses seep into me, and I melt into the kiss. We sit like that for a while—so still, our lips on each other’s, our breath held.

When we pull away, it’s unhurried. Neither of us are in a rush. Not after that. We lock eyes.

I say, my words hushed, “But I’m also glad you did all that. You held me when I needed it. You were there for me, always.” I reach up and stroke his cheek the way he’s done mine so many times. “And how can I not? How can I not care about you after all you’ve sacrificed for me?”

He covers my hand with his, his thumb caressing my skin. I put my head in the crook of his neck, letting him pull me closer.

“That wasn’t the first time you’ve kissed me, you know,” I whisper.

He freezes, his muscles tense under my fingertips. “What do you mean?”

“Remember the party Bebe threw junior year? Well, you were extra drunk, and you’d stumbled over to me. You said some things… most of ‘em I didn’t like too much. And then you told me you cared about me. Then you kissed me. The next day, at Summerton, when I asked if you remembered anything from the party, I wanted to see if you’d recall the kiss. Or see something in your face that would show me you remembered. When you said you didn’t, and your expression was honest too, I felt relief and devastation at the same time. It wasn’t a good mix,” I explain. I’d ran into the bathroom after that gut-wrenching feeling. I’d cried into the sink. Eric had found me. He took me home right after and he held me, never pressing for the answer to why I was crying.

Kenny’s silent for a while. “I had no idea that ever happened. But I did have that feeling of forgetting something important all day.”

I nod. His skin’s warm under my cheek.

“Was it… when me and Henri, and you and Cartman…?” He trails off.

I nod again. “It was. That’s why I was relieved that you didn’t remember. It was easier that way. Pretendin' it never happened.”

He strokes my hair. “I’m glad you didn’t try to jog my memory. We would’ve gotten ourselves into a big mess if we did.”

“Yeah.” I swipe my hands over my face one last time. “I’m gonna go back to bed. Sorry for wakin' you. And tell me if you’re hurtin' from now on, okay?”

He nods. “I will.”

I close the door to his room and go back into mine. I crawl back under the covers, cocooning myself in my own warmth. I’d like to have stayed with Kenny. To have slept with his body beside mine. But as much as I enjoyed that kiss, I don’t want it to end like the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You've been so understanding, you've been so good  
> And I'm puttin' you through more than one ever should  
> And I'm hating myself 'cause you don't want to  
> Admit that it hurts you..."  
> -ghostin


	30. Butters Stotch

**Summer.**

Kenny grabs my hand on my way into my room. I spin, looking him into his eyes for the first time in two weeks. I haven’t spoken to him since we kissed. I haven’t gone into his bed to help me fall asleep. I haven’t even looked him in the eyes. I swore two weeks ago that I was done putting him through hurt. I guess I was doing it wrong. Because his eyes look worse than when they’d witness me crying. His eyes reflect something tragic, like he’s just watched the whole world be slaughtered right before him.

Summer’s been in for a week. It’s hard to avoid him when we have nowhere to go but work. “Leo,” he croaks. It breaks me. “What’d I do wrong?”

I offer him a warbly smile. “Nothin’ at all. I’m the one who did stuff wrong.”

His eyebrows press together. “What do you mean?” he asks.

I laugh, humorless. My eyes drift to the empty living room. Kyle and Stan are out on a date. It’s just me and Kenny until they come back. It was impossible to tiptoe around each other. I move past him to sit on the couch. He stands in front of me in the living room. I just stare at his knees.

“You can tell me, Leo,” he murmurs.

My mouth twists. “What’s to say?” I reply.

He sits next to me, not touching me. There’s a centimeter of space between us, but it feels like a whole galaxy. Minutes pass, and we don’t move. We don’t make a sound. I stare at the shafts of sunlight on the coffee table. We have a plant in the center of it. The edges glow white in the light.

I lean against him, my head on his shoulder. His arm’s around me in an instant.

“Have you ever felt like you’re no longer afraid of anything, but then you realize there’s one thing you’re scared of, and if you come near it, it’ll completely break you?” I ask. I lift my socked foot onto the coffee table, nudging the potted plant with my toe.

He chuckles. “Definitely.”

I turn my head. We lock eyes. We stare, falling into a silence again. I’m the one to close the gap between us, putting my lips on his. He pushes back lightly. I lean my forehead against his after breaking the kiss. He takes my hand, intertwining our fingers.

“When’d you first realize? That you liked me?” I wonder.

He huffs a laugh. “Liking you is putting it lightly.” He pauses, his eyes moving from mine like he knows he’s crossed a line too soon. I blush at his words, warm and cold filling me. “But… um. I don’t think it ever came to me as a light bulb moment. It sort of just slowly faded into that. And when it did, I didn’t question it,” he explains.

I nod. “Me too.”

His thumb moves across my skin.

Years ago, Kenny and I sat on top of a slide at Summerton. I’d attempted to count his myriad of freckles. Then, I didn’t feel as if I had the time. But sitting here with him, I do. I have all the time in the world. So I count, starting with the ones on the bridge of his nose. His freckles aren’t dark, but he has a lot of them all over his face, his neck, and his shoulders. He watches me count them, staying quiet.

I reach one hundred in my head, and I use my free hand to keep track of the freckles I’m counting. I mouth the numbers. He smiles under my touch.

After what feels like forever, I tell him, “You have roughly four hundred, seventy-nine, and three freckles. Roughly.”

He kisses the tip of my nose. He thumbs my scar. “Sorry about this, by the way. I don’t think I ever apologized,” he says.

I giggle, shrugging. “Aw, to heck with it. We were dumb ten-year-olds who didn’t know any better. It ain’t a big deal. I didn’t ever blame you for it anyway. I counted it as all of your faults.”

He laughs, leaning back to the arm of the couch, taking me with him. I lay between his legs, my ear over his heart.

“Why didn’t we speak for a whole two weeks?” he asks.

I sigh, knowing he would ask, but not wanting to have to answer. “Remember how I mentioned coming close to that one thing you’re afraid of, and it’ll be bad when you do? Well, that’s me. With love. Or—not love in general. Just the leaving part of love. I don’t wanna be left again. I don’t think I’d survive it.”

“You think I’d leave you?” he says, breathless.

I draw shapes on his chest. “That’s the thing. I dunno. It’s the unpredictability that scares me the most. Doncha wish we could just be told who we’re s’posed to fall in love with and never have that uncertainty lurking in the corners of our minds?”

“I mean, in one way, that’d be convenient. But in another, where’s the fun in being told who you’re supposed to fall in love with? The unpredictability can be scary, yeah, but it’s also what’s fun about it. I mean… you get to know people that way. You, um, you got to know Nelly better, for example,” he says.

“Nelly was different,” I say. “I didn’t love her. That’s why I went into that ‘relationship’ ”—I use air quotes around the word—“with her. I didn’t have anything to lose.”

I listen to the beat of his heart, the pace of his breathing.

“Leo?” he says into my hair.

“Mm-hm?”

“What about me?”

“If I lose you, I have nothin’. I don’t wanna mess up with you. Not ever. It’s not like the way it was before. You’re somethin’ special. I can’t—I can’t—” I ball my hand into a fist, keeping my lips sealed against my teeth.

Kenny runs his hand through my hair. He says, “Don’t worry about that. We’ll make mistakes. Both of us. But I won’t leave. I know that because you were in a, uh, you know, long-term relationship, it seems like pretty high expectations to live up to… but… we shouldn’t set expectations. We should have it be like we’re brand new to relationships. We should figure things out together. So don’t you worry your pretty mind about it. We’ll figure this thing out together.”

I find myself smiling. My hand relaxes, splayed over his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And you'll say  
> Don't you worry your pretty little mind  
> People throw rocks at things that shine  
> And life makes love look hard  
> The stakes are high, the water's rough  
> But this love is ours..."  
> -Ours


	31. Kenny McCormick

**Summer.**

“We should do something,” Leo says.

I peer down at him. “Oh? Like what?”

He hums, his eyes flicking to the balcony. It’s dark outside. Lights are on in the windows in the building across from ours. “How bout a date?”

I freeze, the handful of popcorn halfway to my mouth. “A date?” I ask, my voice getting high, like I’ve inhaled helium.

It attracts the attention of Kyle and Stan who were whispering to each other on the other couch. From the corner of my eye, they look amused. I clear my throat, shooting them a quick glare before focusing on Leo again. My voice returns to its normal pitch. “Where to?”

He shrugs, looking back to the TV. It makes his face blue. “I dunno. I asked you out. You choose the place.”

My jaw drops. Stan and Kyle burst into laughter. “Would you two idiots shut up and go back to making out?” I snap.

Stan gives me a shit-eating grin as Kyle turns his chin back towards him.

I drum my fingers on Leo’s stomach. I have myself spooned around him as we watch Netflix. It’s so intimate and so new, yet it feels right. Like it should’ve been this way all along.

I’ve never hidden the fact that I’m crude. It’s a part of me I accepted years ago, too young to should’ve known what crude even meant. So I embrace my crudeness with my suggestion: “We should go to the club.”

Leo blinks up at me in surprise. “We’re only twenty. I don’t turn twenty-one for another five months. You only turned twenty barely three months ago.”

I smirk at him. “I have a fake ID, remember?”

“I don’t!”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” I take my phone from between our pressed bodies, checking the time. I’d changed my lockscreen to his beaming face. I don’t know exactly when it came to mind that I should change my lockscreen, but it happened. He changed his lockscreen to my face. It’s like becoming Facebook official, except people our age don’t use Facebook. So making your boyfriend your lockscreen is the new thing.

I brush the thought aside, saying, “It’s past midnight. The club’s open.”

Leo turns over, facing me. “Which club? How am I gonna get in? I don’t even look twenty!” he protests.

I pinch his cheek before kissing it. He has a baby face. He’s right about that. Even his baby blue eyes look too innocent to be the eyes of a twenty-year-old. “Trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

He sinks into me, his voice muffled by my chest. “You better be right about this. I don’t wanna get arrested.”

I laugh, putting my lips to his forehead.

 

Leo’s face when I whisper to him that we’re sneaking in through the back is priceless. He’s completely drained of color in the passing streetlights. I laugh. His jaw is dropped open, his eyes wide.

“The _back?!”_ he exclaims. “A-are you _insane?_ That’s—that’s—” He throws up his hands. “I don’t even know!”

I’m cracking up, clutching my chest. “Oh, oh. My chest hurts. Oh my God.”

He gives my shoulder a shove. “Stop it!” he whines. “This ain’t funny! I said I didn’t wanna get arrested and you’ll get us arrested!”

I pat his knee, laughter slowly subsiding. “Chill. I mean what I say.”

He crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. He turns his gaze towards the window. The lights reflect on his face.

I chuck his chin. “Hey, you said I could pick where we went out,” I remind him.

He groans, putting his forehead on the back of the front seat. We figured it’s better to Uber there since I know we’ll do some drinking. He doesn’t know that yet though. He closes his eyes. “What’s my life come to?”

I laugh harder.

We stare at the grimy back door, surrounded by dumpsters of empty glass bottles and what looks like vomit. Leo scrunches up his nose, clinging to my arm. “How do you even know where this’ll lead?” he asks.

A nervous laugh leaves me. I scratch the back of my neck. “Um. Henrietta and I would come here pretty often, actually.”

He peers up at me from the corner of his eye. My cheeks warm under that glare.

“What?” I exclaim, facing my palms to the night sky. “This is Denver! I don’t know shit about it except for the places I’ve discovered in my personal experience.”

His face breaks out in a smile. He presses up to his tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “Whatever, Ken. As long as I got you, nothin’ could go wrong.”

We trade a glance like we both know that statement holds a half-truth.

I step up to the door and the keypad under the handle. Leo follows. In my ear, he whispers, “You know the code?”

I nod, pressing in the numbers one, three, zero, six. I pull open the door slowly, revealing the inside of a maintenance room.

“What kinda club has a backdoor that leads to a _maintenance_ room?” Leo hisses as we step inside.

“A club. I don’t know.”

We sneak out the maintenance room and turn a corner, already met with the pulse of loud music. Blue neon lights flash around the floor and walls. The sound of conversation and glasses clinking can be heard if you strain your ears. A mob of dancing bodies crowd the floor.

I glance at Leo, who looks anxious. I say into his ear, “How about we loosen up first?”

Disbelief is set in his eyes as I smirk and lead him to the bar. We sit on stools. Leo scoots closer to me when some dude stops chatting up some girl turns to give him the side-eye over his shoulder. I throw my arm around Leo, waving over the bartender. Leo leans into the embrace as the bartender grins when he recognizes me.

“Kenny! I haven’t seen you in awhile! What happened?” Joey shouts over the music.

I reply, “Life happened.”

Without even looking at Leo, Joey says, “So. You moved on? No more Henrietta?”

Internally, I wince. Externally, I laugh, albeit nervously. My arm shifts tighter around Leo. “Um, yeah. Happened two years ago,” I say.

He nods, extending a hand to Leo and offering him a friendly grin. “Nice to meet you. I’m Joey. I mean no harm mentioning past loves.”

Leo shakes his hand, his smile wavering. “I’m, uh, I’m—I’m Leo.”

I skip an inhalation. Did Leo just introduce himself as Leo, or am I already tripping? The world seems to stop as I spiral down. I’m the only one who’s ever called Leo Leo. Everyone else calls him Butters. And Butters is just a nickname his ex came up with back in preschool. Leo introducing himself as the name I call him, and not the name his ex came up with… that—that’s gotta mean something. That means something huge, but I can’t wrap my head around it.

The world resumes. Joey retracts his hand. “So the usual?” he says to me.

I blink hard, brushing the lingering thought way. “Sure.”

To Leo, he says, “What would you like?”

Leo looks to me, a cry for help. To Joey, I tell him, “How about a Blue Hawaii?”

“Got it.” Joey moves further down the bar to start on our drinks.

Leo grips my shirt. “What’s a Blue Hawaii?” He looks so afraid and nervous it’s kind of cute.

I run my knuckles over his cheek. “It’s a sweet drink. I think you’ll like it. It’s got rum, vodka, pineapple juice, some citrus shit in there, and some other stuff. I don’t remember,” I say.

“Well what’s your usual?” he asks.

“Manhattan,” I say.

He blinks at me. “M-m—never mind.”

I put my lips to his face, laughing into his temple.

Turns out Leo has a kick for the harder stuff. He takes a quick liking to cognac, telling Joey to make him anything with cognac in it. He doesn’t have that high of a tolerance though, swaying in his seat after the fourth drink. Or maybe he’s just swaying to the music offbeat. His eyes are pretty hazy though. His words slur so much that he has to use sign language, and even with that, he’ll mix up the signs.

After his sixth drink, I slice my hand across my throat, motioning for Joey to not bring him anymore. I make a _come here_ gesture with my hand to tell him to keep my drinks coming though.

Leo speaks in gibberish, hand signals, phrases, and lyrics, constantly reaching out to kiss my face. I love it.

I’m in the middle of my eighth Manhattan when Leo grabs my arm, sloshing a bit of the drink over the lip of the cup. By now, I’m pretty drunk too, just not as drunk as him. He points to the crowd of people moving to the beat of the song the DJ has blasting. “Dance!” he demands.

“Yes sir!” I exclaim, raising my hand to my brow in a salute.

Leo begins to walk off. I slap a hundred and ten bucks on the bar, putting my half-full glass over it. I don’t even know how much those drinks cost. I hope that’ll do. And if it’s too much, Joey can keep it. Bartenders are practically therapists without the degree anyway. They deserve more than they earn.

We dance for what feels like hours. The music blends into one song in my head. All I’m focused on is Leo’s hands never leaving mine, his lips as he mouths the words to the song, his face as he glows blue in the lights. Somewhere in between it all, Leo’s hands slide from mine to my waist, his forehead against mine. I have my arms around his shoulders.

I bend my neck, kissing him, tasting the variety of drinks he’s had on his tongue. A wave of heat rolls over me as I realize this is the first time we’ve kissed with tongues. Before, it was chaste, puckered-lips kisses. None of it was so deep and intimate and slow as this.

His head tilts, his mouth open against mine. He pulls me closer the same time I draw him nearer. The taste of his mouth is better than any Manhattan or Blue Hawaii or Sidecar. He’s sweet and heated and a little bit bitter. It leaves me drunker than any alcohol. It leaves me craving for more when he pulls back. I need his taste to survive. Luckily for me, he seems to be filled with the same need.

The only time we break is for air, or for the occasional bop to the beat. My eyes never stray from his, his eyes never stray from mine.

The next thing I remember is sitting in the back of an Uber, still making out with Leo drunkenly and messily. The music in the car is just as loud as it was in the club, or maybe it’s just my senses heightened from the kisses. Our hands are everywhere. On chests, on jaws, on thighs. His hand seeps through the denim of my jeans, his touch cooling my heated skin.

Then we’re walking down the sidewalk towards the apartment, using each other as beams of balance. We don’t stop kissing, even as we walk. My arm’s slung around his shoulders, his side snug against mine. The sound of our laughter and the smack of kisses float around the air.

The apartment’s dark and silent when we enter. I drop my keys on the floor as I’m locking up the door once we’re inside. I don’t bother picking them up, too focused on Leo leaning against the wall, waiting for me. His hair is messy. His cheeks are flushed from alcohol and our interactions.

I lead him to my room, his fingers limp around mine, yet clinging. This isn’t like the other times we’ve been alone together in my room though. This is different. Everything about it is. It’s lost its innocence, playing on something lecherous. He locks the door behind us. We fall to my bed, still kissing, the world spinning. Behind my eyelids, I still see the pulsating blue lights of the club. I still feel the slow rhythm of his lips, somehow in time with the music. It’s the club and this moment blending into one experience.

His breathing gets heavier, desperate.

I help him out of his shirt, my hands skimming every piece of exposed skin. He’s burning up. He still wears his shark tooth necklace from fourth grade like I do. It’s symbolic, or maybe my drunk mind is just reaching. Reaching for the fact that we earned these necklaces back in fourth grade, never took them off as we strayed through separate lives, only to come back together again. My focus shifts, the world still whirling. I feel his eyelashes flutter against my cheeks, trading breaths. He kisses me hard, his thumb moving down the nape of my neck.

I push him into my mattress, my hands sliding up his chest. When his eyes blink open, I feel it. I open my eyes into his. His eyes are such a light blue, so seemingly innocent, so much the opposite. Silent words pass between us, vibrations in the air between our gazes.

The thin barrier of clothes between our skin is lost. He runs his hand through my hair, stilling at the back of my neck. His other hand twists around my bicep. His breathy little sounds are in my ear. I keep my head dipped between his neck and shoulder. We try to keep quiet for Stan and Kyle asleep across the apartment. Inevitable grunts and whimpers still escape us, but not loud enough to wake them. Our stomachs brush. Our heartbeats sync to the same rhythm. The feeling is strong, too strong to be expressed in words.

We lay together after, still kissing, but kissing tiredly. Daylight starts to seep in through the curtains covering the window. The room is gray, the shadows dark and hazy on the floor and walls. Bleary-eyed, I glance at my clock. It’s almost six in the morning. Leo’s already half-asleep on my chest. His fingers are limply hooked around my shark tooth necklace. I skim my hand over his shoulder, sighing as my eyes start to droop.

 

I wake to the rush of someone hurrying out of my bed. My door’s thrown open, followed by the sound of another hitting the wall. Then there’s the sound of retching. I spring out of bed, running into the bathroom to see Leo bent over the toilet, throwing up his guts into it. He’s in his underwear, but his top half is bare. I’m immediately at his side, rubbing his back as he continues to vomit. The floor is cold under my skin, and I’m silently grateful that I’m in my underwear too.

I start to hear his little whimpers, his shoulders trembling. He’s crying. But I realize they’re tears of joy as he smiles and laughs into the bowl of the toilet. He wraps his arms around his head, still laughing. I smile to myself, kissing his neck. My hand slides over his bare back, feeling the notches of his spine under my fingertips, remembering how his body felt under mine last night. So right. So perfect.

“Hangover?” I ask, my voice croaky with sleep.

He nods. “My head’s spinning and pulsing,” he groans.

I sigh, putting my head between his shoulder blades. “Yep. That’s what’ll happen. Should probably drink some water. And take some Aspirin. Eat something too,” I murmur.

He sniffles. “Do you feel sick too?”

I curl my arms around his torso. “Mm. Not really. Just a little queasy. But I’m not gonna throw up.”

“How?”

“Used to it.”

“Ugh.” He spits into the toilet. I feel the muscles on his back move as he lifts his arms to massage his temples.

“Let me go get you stuff,” I say, getting to my feet.

I almost crash into Kyle on my way to the kitchen. I stumble back. He holds out a plate of toast covered in jam and a glass of water. I notice there are two pills on the side of the plate. “Give this to him,” he says. “The other piece of toast is yours. And come to me if you need more Aspirin. Give it an hour at least.”

I squint at him, then at Stan watching from the couch. I turn back to Kyle. “How’d you know?” I ask, taking the stuff from him.

He shrugs. “Well, it’s two in the afternoon, for one. We heard him run into the bathroom and start barfing. For two, my boyfriend drinks away his problems. I’ve been dealing with his hangovers since middle school,” he says.

I nod. “Cool. Thanks.”

I go back into the bathroom, setting the plate and glass of water on the sink. I crouch next to Leo, massaging his neck. “You think you’ve thrown up all the remnants of last night?” I ask.

He nods. “And bile too,” he adds.

I help him to his feet, having him rinse and brush his mouth. I flush the toilet as he scrapes his toothbrush over his tongue. He spits the foam into the sink, then rinses one more time. He sits on the closed toilet lid. I give him a piece of the toast. I take the other slice for myself, leaning against the wall.

Leo catches my eye after he’s been staring off blankly and chewing absentmindedly. He blushes, looking away.

I reach over to ruffle his hair, but he grabs my hand and pulls me closer. I snake my arm around his shoulders. He puts his head against my stomach. My cheek rests on his head. After he’s finished his toast, he pops the pill and washes it down with the water. I follow suit.

“What time’s it?” he asks as I hoist him to his feet. I take him out of the bathroom and into the living room. He slumps into the couch. His eyes are squeezed shut against the sunlight. Kyle takes the empty plate and glass from me.

“It’s almost two-thirty,” Stan says.

“In the afternoon?” Leo asks.

“In the afternoon,” Stan agrees.

Leo’s mouth forms an O.

I go back into the bathroom to brush my own teeth. In my room, I put on some clothes. I grab some of Leo’s clothes from his room. When I hold them out to him, he pushes them away, his mouth pouting. “No,” he says.

“No?” I echo.

He takes the pair of sweatpants from me, shimmying into them without standing from the couch. “I want one of your shirts,” he says. He peers up at me with those baby blue eyes.

I work my jaw. “Mine?”

He nods, smiling without teeth. “It’s the rules, baby doll,” he says.

I go into my room, dropping his shirt on my bed while getting one of mine from my closet. “Baby doll?” I whisper to myself. I’m still mouthing the words as I return to the living room.

Leo happily takes the shirt from me, pulling it over his head. He ensnares my hand. My legs give out. I buckle down next to him on the couch. He throws his legs over my lap, his arms hooked around my neck, his head on my shoulder. Kyle sits next to Stan, his own arm around him. They smirk at each other, then at us. My head swims, from the hangover and from that gasping first breath Leo makes me feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Last night, we met at one  
> Drank 'til two, danced 'til four  
> Walked you home, awake 'til dawn  
> Slept 'til noon and now I want more..."  
> -Woke Up Late


	32. Kenny McCormick

**Summer.**

“G’night,” Leo whispers to me, his fingers ghosting over my face.

I smile at him, holding his hand to my cheek. “Night,” I say. We trade a sleepy kiss, clinging onto each other as we fall asleep.

When I wake up the next morning, I realize my bed’s empty. The space Leo usually sleeps in is cold, like he hasn’t been there for a while. I get out of bed, tiptoeing out of my room. I open his door slowly. It’s dark inside, and I can make out his sleeping shape. I close the door, letting him sleep in, not thinking much of it.

At ten, he comes out of his room, knuckling his eyes. From my stance at the stove making bacon, I smile at him. “Morning,” I say.

He shoots me a quick, close-lipped smile before disappearing into the bathroom. I hear the shower start. I flip the pieces of bacon. Leo doesn’t usually greet me in the morning like that. He usually comes from the room and throws his arms around me from behind, his cheek on the back of my shoulder. He mumbles a good morning, kissing the nape of my neck. He never just shoots me a half-assed smile and goes into another room without a word.

I’m sitting at the breakfast bar, nibbling on a crisp piece of bacon when Leo comes from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. He closes his bedroom door behind him, but I open it again when I follow him into his room. I put my back against the door, watching him jump into some pants. It’s like he doesn’t notice me there, even when he turns to put on his shirt.

His room looks different from a month ago. His pillow doesn’t have Cartman’s hoodie over it. Only that stuffed astronaut sits on his made bed. I haven’t seen him wear any of his ex’s stuff since we had our second first kiss.

“I made bacon,” I say eventually.

Stan doesn’t eat meat since he went vegetarian years ago, and Kyle doesn’t eat pork. Only me and Leo eat bacon.

“Okay,” he says. He goes over to his window to pull open the closed blinds. The sun hits his hair, making it look white.

“Um, is everything good?” I ask him.

He turns to me. “Whaddya mean?” he says.

I drum my fingers on the door, looking down. His room doesn’t have shirts littering the floor like mine. He’s so much neater than I am. “Nothing,” I say. “Come eat some breakfast.”

We sit at the bar next to each other, but we don’t say anything.

Stan opens the balcony door. The sound of rustling leaves and birds chirping come into the apartment. It’s getting hotter as July draws closer. There’s something wrong with the AC, and Stan likes opening the balcony doors anyway.

When the time comes for me to leave for work after twelve, I kiss Leo’s cheek goodbye. “I’ll see you after work,” I say, my hand on the small of his back.

He nods, avoiding my gaze.

That lack of eye contact and a smile plagues me. It’s the opposite of when his cheerful smile would stick in my head as I worked. Those smiles made me feel warm. That look he gave me—or didn’t give me—earlier makes me feel cold.

Lu Kim snaps his fingers in my face. “Get back to work!” he barks. He gestures to the customer waiting on the other side of the food display.

“Sorry,” I mutter to Lu Kim. He scoffs and goes back to the cash register. I take the customer’s order without saying more than I have to.

I’ve been working at City Wok since seventh grade, though I first got a job here in fourth grade. It wasn’t until middle school that I started working part-time and not just a quick job so I could earn some money for Karen.

Kevin had already had a couple jobs, and I wanted to be useful too. So I went back to City Wok and asked for a job. Lu Kim gave it to me instantly. He can be tough sometimes, but he pays me well.

When the customer leaves the restaurant, Lu Kim points to the empty tables, handing me a damp rag. I get what he means, going around the counter to wipe down the tables.

I rub circles onto the tabletops, greasy from whoever last sat here. He did that on purpose. He revoked me of ordering privileges and demoted me to busboy because at least I can be lost in thought wiping down tables. I don’t risk Lu Kim customers this way.

Since I’ve been working here for seven years, Lu Kim sometimes lets me watch the restaurant and become temporary manager if he really can’t do it himself. Otherwise, he wouldn’t let anyone watch over this place.

“What on your mind?” he says from his station behind the register.

I stop, looking over to him. “Nothing,” I lie.

He scoffs again, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. “You got lighter?”

I reach into my waist apron and toss him the lighter. When I was fifteen, he caught me smoking out back during my break. It was about the time I started to take an interest in Henrietta. I thought he’d pull me by my ear and crush the cigarette under his heel for sure, but he just gave me a lighter instead and told me to keep it in the apron pocket.

He lights his cigarette, holding it to his mouth and taking a drag. He holds out another to me. I shake my head, declining his offer. “You no smoke no more?” he asks.

“No. I quit two years ago,” I say.

He hums. “Good for you.” He pauses, the only sound being the light crackle of the cigarette burning as he inhales. “You with someone new.” He draws out the statement like he already knows the answer and just wants me to admit it aloud.

I laugh nervously, moving onto the next table. “Um… yeah.”

He taps his ashes into the ashtray next to the register. “Who?”

“Uh. You don’t know him,” I say.

“Try me.”

“Well, he lived here in South Park—”

“It’s that Butters kid, huh?”

I blink at him, taken aback. “Yeah… How’d you know?”

Lu Kim laughs. “You see? I know who he is,” he says.

“But how’d you know it’s Leo?” I wonder. “It could’ve been anyone from South Park who moved away for college.”

“When you in high school, he would come here. With other boy. The big one. With the different eye.” He points to his own eyes for emphasis.

I look away, clearing my throat. “Oh, um. Yeah. Well, me and Leo are dating now,” I say.

But Lu Kim continues. “I member. They come here when you here sometime. You look at Butters like whole world. Even when you dating that Henrietta.”

“I would?”

“Yeah! All the damn time. Couldn’t even get you to move after he gone.” He mutters the last part mostly to himself.

Is he serious? Did I really go into a fucking stupor whenever Leo would come over to City Wok to get some shitty Chinese food? In _high school?_ When we were dating different people? How far did I go back catching these feelings for him? _When_ did I catch these feelings for him? Because according to Lu Kim and Leo himself, it could go as far back as junior year.

“Oh! And then you go on rant about his boyfriend. How he no good for him,” Lu Kim adds. He chuckles, taking a drag of the cigarette. Smoke leaves his mouth when he says, “You get so mad. Passively. So funny. Like reality TV show.”

“I _did?”_ I say, my mouth agape. “How the fuck do I not remember any of this shit?”

“You a fucking dumbass, I don’t know. Now get back to work.” He claps his hands like it finalizes his command. In a way, I guess it does.

 

Lu Kim revealing that I’ve stared after Leo when he used to come by City Wok in high school doesn’t leave my head, even as I’m driving back to the apartment after checking in with Karen. Stan and Kyle are gone when I get to the apartment. Leo should’ve just gotten back from work five minutes ago. I notice his door is ajar. I push it open with my knuckles, peering in.

Leo’s on his bed, cross-legged. He fiddles with that astronaut stuffed toy in his lap.

“Hey, Leo,” I say, my voice just above a murmur.

He looks up. “Hi, Ken.”

Our gazes hold. We stare at each other. I break the silence and the stillness by sitting next to him on his bed, saying, “Everything okay?”

He shrugs, returning his attention to the astronaut. “Fine.”

I run my thumb over the nape of his neck. “You sure?”

He makes a noncommittal noise.

I bring my face down close to his. “You know you can tell me anything.” I kiss his cheek. “It’s my job as your boyfriend.”

He winces at the mention of the word. “No.”

I jerk in surprise. “No?”

“You can’t.”

“What—”

“You can’t be my boyfriend.”

The statement makes my jaw fall. I can’t be his boyfriend? Then what have we been these past four weeks? Friends with benefits? Am I just another Nelly? But he literally said I’m not like her. What we have is different. “But why—what?”

His face screws up like he’s just tasted something sour. Tears spring to his eyes. “Because I don’t wanna lose you! I lost Eric, and—and I don’t wanna lose another person I love!”

My hand drops to his. “You... love me?” I breathe. He’s never said that before. I’ve come close to admitting it, but it didn’t cross my mind once that he might be going through the same thing.

“Of course I do! Whaddya think drove me to you anyway? I’ve loved you since you kissed me junior year.”

I take his other hand, squeezing his fingers. He looks up at me, tears clinging to his dark eyelashes. I say, “I love you too, Leo. And you aren’t gonna lose me just because we’re boyfriends.”

“How do you know that? I never thought I was gonna lose Eric, and then I did, and—and—”

I press my mouth hard to his, silencing him with a kiss. When I pull back, I murmur, “I just know you won’t lose me. I won’t leave you like that. I could never hurt you. You know that. I mean, I considered you and me boyfriends since you told me you’d having nothing without me in June.”

He sniffles. “I—I guess I did too. Sorry I was so cold this mornin’. I’d realized it last night. Layin’ next to you. I realized that I love you so much… and I… I don’t even know. I don’t know how to think logically anymore.” I wipe off his face. He drops his head against my chest. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I can’t stop hurtin’ you.” He groans in frustration.

I take his face in my hands, kissing him. “Hey,” I say softly. “Remember what I said about us figuring this out together? As a totally new experience? We’ll work through this together. I know… I know you’re still—you still—but. I’ll help you. Every step of the way.”

“Really?” he whispers.

“I pro—”

His kiss cuts me off. Against my lips, he murmurs, “No promises. I’ve had enough of that.”

I press my nose against his. I smile, staring into his eyes on mine. “Sounds good to me.”

He smiles back, his blue eyes shining.


	33. Kenny McCormick

**Autumn.**

I’m woken up by a bone-chilling scream. Panic floods through me as I think the worst, bolting into Leo’s room. I have myself wrapped around him instantly, hushing into his hair. I realize he’s not crying, just screaming.

“Leo, it’s okay. It’s okay,” I whisper.

My pounding heart breaks into hopeless fragments. He was doing so well. He hasn’t had a dreamory since that night he confessed he cares about me. It’s been almost five months without running to rooms and cradling him, attempting to soothe his broken sobs and stifled screams.

His screaming finally dies out to hysteric breathing. I pull him from me, holding him an arm’s length. I run my hands over his face. “Calm down, Leo. Breathe deep. In and out,” I remind him. I demonstrate, sucking in a breath of air, holding it for four seconds, then releasing it.

Leo sits there, frozen, staring at me with wide eyes. He’s stopped breathing completely. He looks as if he’s just seen a ghost. His hand lifts, touching my cheek as if he expects his fingers to pass through my skin like I’m an apparition.

“How?” he breathes. “How—how’s this possible?”

I hold his hand against my cheek, feeling the warmth of his palm. “How is what possible?”

He continues to mumble to himself, “I saw it…” He locks eyes with me. What he says next chills me to the bone. “I saw you die. Over and over.”

Now it’s my turn to freeze, staring at him in bewilderment. “What?” I whisper, my voice unable to rise any louder.

His hand shakes as he starts to stroke my cheek. “I saw you die hundreds of times. You w-were run over, beaten, burned, sh-shot, stabbed, impaled, c-crushed.” His lips tremble, but no tears come to his eyes. “I saw it all, e-even when I knew I wasn’t there at the time to witness it. And I know it’s not a nightmare. It was real, so lucid. A-a dreamory. Of you. D-dying.”

A chill runs down my spine and my stomach rolls around my body. I feel sick. I can’t swallow the lump forming in my throat, making me struggle to breathe.

He continues, “How—how’s it possible that you’re here? After all that?” His thumb grazes my skin. “Not even a scar…”

I realize my hands are shaking worse than his. My whole body is. “You remember,” I croak.

He sucks in a breath. “How’d I even forget any of that? That—that’s traumatizing. And how—? And why—?” He whimpers. “What kinda boyfriend forgets that?” he whispers.

I take his cheeks in my hands, looking into his eyes. I rasp, “No, don’t beat yourself up about it. Nobody else remembers. Not Stan, not Kyle. You—you’re one of the only. I don’t know how…”

He tenses in my palms. _“One of_ the only?”

I wince, feeling as if I’ve just been stabbed. “There was one other person,” I whisper.

Leo squeezes my wrists. “Who?”

My teeth grit. “Cartman.”

The silence is stifling. Eventually, he pushes out, “What? But how? He never—” He gasps. “He’s mentioned it so many times before. And I never believed him.”

I pull him to my chest, more for me than for him. His back presses flush against me. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“Eric, he’d tell me that you’d die all the time. I’d never believe him. I thought it was just a morbid joke between you and him. It n-never occurred to me that it could’ve been the truth.” He tangles our fingers together. “He said once that he remembers ‘cause he has your eyes. You came back one day, and he remembered, along with his right iris changin’ color. He described it like it was some glitch, somethin’ that wasn’t s’posed to happen. And I always thought he was kiddin’. I-I’m so sorry, Ken,” he says.

I hold him tighter. “Don’t be. Don’t be. All I’ve ever wanted was for someone to remember,” I say into his hair.

“B-but how? And why doesn’t nobody remember?”

“It’s a curse. My parents were part of this Cthulhu cult. I don’t know what happened exactly, but I was cursed with—the inability to die. And a part of it is having no one remember. Not even the people I love,” I explain.

Leo caresses my arm. “It makes sense,” he says.

“It does?” I laugh humorlessly. “How?”

I feel him shrug against me. He runs his hand through my hair, kissing the underside of my jaw. “I always felt like I was missin’ somethin’ about you. There’d be days you’d be at school, and I’d wonder why you were there. I knew that you shouldn’t’ve been, but I wouldn’t be able to place why.”

A sob echoes from my throat. I’ve only cried in front of Leo once. We were twelve, and for some reason, I’d just broken down to him that day.

The memory replays through my mind like a movie.

We were walking to the park together coming back from the store. Leo had bought a new basketball. He dribbled it as we walked shoulder to shoulder. I remember hearing the ball bounce every time it hit the sidewalk. With each point of contact from Leo’s fingertips to the pavement, an uncomfortable twist in my throat got tighter.

At the courts, Leo caught the ball with both hands after bouncing it one last time. “Wanna play HORSE? We don’t have enough people for Knockout,” he’d said. It was just the two of us. Kyle and Stan and Cartman were probably up to no good. But we liked it when it could be just the two of us without Cartman and Kyle’s bickering and Stan having to interfere.

“Sure,” I’d said. “You go first.”

Leo stepped up to the free throw line, making it in. He passed it to me.

I went up, aligning the toes of my pink Converse with it. I aimed the ball before throwing it. It missed, bouncing off the backboard. “H,” I’d said with a sigh.

When I would go after Leo, I’d miss. After only four turns, I was on my last letter, E. I had the ball held up in position, silently praying that I’d make it in because I hadn’t made one basket. A light gust of spring wind blew through my clothes. I had my orange jacket tied around my waist after I got too hot from embarrassment at missing each time. I pushed the ball off my fingers, launching it at the hoop.

The arc it made gave me the impression I’d get a perfect swish, and a spark of excitement jumped in my chest. Instead, it balanced on the rim after bouncing a couple times. Right as it looked about to lean into the basket, it tumbled over the wrong way. It fell to the ground, ricocheting off towards the bushes. A pricking sensation had risen to my eyes as I watched it roll further and further way. Leo ran after it before it got too far. It had rolled under the hedges growing over the fence separating the park from the street. My lip had begun to wobble as I heard the whisper of leaves parting around the ball. Leo had crouched, stretching into the tangle of leaves and branches to retrieve the ball. He held it in his arms, standing in triumph. He even had a proud little smirk on his face. The basketball was new, so bright orange in his arms.

And I’d burst into tears.

He’d dropped the ball on the empty bench, running over to me. “Kenny, are you okay? What’s wrong?” he asked, all while taking me into his arms and holding me. “It’s okay to miss a shot. I missed all the time too. I was on R. I wasn’t doin’ so hot either.”

He thought I was crying because I hadn’t made not one basket.

I wasn’t often held in my home. My parents stopped holding me and my siblings after we’d start kindergarten. Kevin only ever held me when he could tell I was having a bad day. As I got older, I hid those emotions, trying to be strong and keep myself in check like him. By eleven, he no longer hugged me until I felt better, because I was so good at hiding it that he thought I didn’t need it. And I was always the one holding Karen. She was too young and oblivious to see I needed to be held too.

So having Leo keep his arms around me for more than just a split second made me cry harder, realizing how much I missed the intimate touch.

He’d lowered us to the ground. I’d kept my face hidden in the crook of his neck, my face burning with tears and shame. He didn’t say a word, allowing me to let it all out. He’d run his fingers through my hair, twirling long strands around his finger.

I’d never felt so safe as the day I clung to his blue shirt for dear life as I cried until I had no tears left. I remember being so afraid that I’d die in his arms. I was afraid I’d die from the searing misery and self-pity in my chest. I didn’t want to die with his comforting arms around me.

I remember staring at the blue fabric of his shirt gripped in my fist. The blue reminded me of the oceans in Hawaii. Hawaii reminded me of the trip there I took with Leo. The blue reminded me of how calm and carefree I felt being alone with him there on that island, stripped of the stress of the life we lived back in South Park.

I only lived through that affliction because he didn’t let me go. Not for a second.

From that day forward, I swore to protect Leo no matter the circumstance. I decided—in my tearful, sniffly, weak state—that nothing in the world would come between us. I decided that we’d always be right by each other’s side no matter what. I’d decided that I’d die for him. I’d die for him even if I wouldn’t come back the next day.

Because I’d fallen in love with him.

I’d fallen in love with him that spring day in the middle of the basketball courts, empty except for us, as he held me and let me cry on his shoulder, giving me everything I never knew I needed.

We’re like that now. Only this time, we’re sitting on his bed in September. We’re not twelve either. He’s twenty-one, and I’m twenty. But the similarities show in the way he holds me steady to his chest, silent and stroking my hair. It shows in the way my burning face is pressed into the crook of his neck. It shows in the way that despite the anguish I feel, I know I’m safe with him, and I know I still love him. Even more than before.

Leo’s lips brush my forehead, then the bridge of my nose. I wipe my face with my sleeve. I rise to a sitting position, coughing out, “Sorry.”

His palms frame my face. “Don’t be, baby doll. It’s okay to cry. After all you’ve done for me, it’s the least I could do for you,” he says.

I laugh, sniffling. “It’s funny when you call me baby doll. But I like it.”

He leans forward and kisses me light as a feather. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers.

I put my hand over his heart, feeling the faint thrum through his shirt. “Will _you_ be okay though? I know that all that information is a lot to take in,” I say. “Me dying all the time and stuff.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But it’s not hard to understand, oddly enough. Weirder things have happened in South Park.”

“Yeah. That’s true, I guess.”

Leo smiles, thumbing away the last of my tears. “Everything’s gonna be just fine, baby doll. We’re gonna be just fine.”

I take his right hand from my cheek, kissing his palm. “I believe you,” I mumble against his palm.

He gives me a peck, the cheery tone returning to his voice. “So whaddya say we get outta this stuffy apartment for a little?” he says.

I nod, slipping my hand into his. “But nowhere where we have to drive. It’s almost six in the morning.”

We end up on the roof of the apartment, eating strawberry Pop-Tarts and drinking beer. I lay down next to Leo who’s sitting up as we stare at the sky. We have our warmth entrapped in fuzzy blankets to keep the crisp fall air out. I point to a particularly wispy cloud. “That one looks like cotton candy,” I say.

He scoffs playfully. “That’s the least creative thing you can say about a cloud. Try again.”

I hum, tapping my lip with my empty beer can. “It looks like… a feather,” I decide.

“Better!” Leo exclaims. He takes the last sip of his beer. He scrunches up his nose as he sets the empty can aside. “I hate beer. It tastes like pee.”

I laugh, wrapping my arms around his waist, pulling him down to me. “Now you go,” I say when his head’s on my chest.

He points up. “That one. It looks like a dinosaur with a mohawk,” he observes.

I tilt my head, squinting. “Yep. I can see that.”

We continue cloud watching as the sun comes up, pointing out what cloud looks like what. As the sky starts to brighten in blue, I point to a cloud shaped like an angel. To him, I say, “That one looks like you.”

His face contorts in confusion. “It looks like an angel,” he says.

“Exactly.”

He looks up at me, the clouds reflecting in his eyes a shade lighter than the sky. “Oh, Kenny. I ain’t no angel. I’m far from it,” he says.

I caress his cheek. “Maybe that’s what you think. But that’s how I see you. I’ve always seen you that way.”

He rolls onto me, his elbows at either side of my head. He touches his nose to mine. “You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. I hope you know that.” He pushes back my hair, kissing the corner of my mouth.

I lift my hand over my face so he can see it. I fold my middle and ring finger down to my palm, keeping my thumb, forefinger, and pinkie raised. It’s the sign for _I love you._

He smiles, mirroring the sign to me. He then opens my hand into his, sliding his fingers into the spaces between mine. It’s not sign language, but it’s universal for two who share a deep connection of passion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I have died every day waiting for you..."  
> -A Thousand Years


	34. Butters Stotch

**College, senior year.**

After the graduation ceremony ends, I find Kenny at the spot where we designated to meet. When he sees me, he holds open his arms, and I run right into his embrace. He kisses me all over my face, and when he gets to my lower half, he kisses my mouth open. Feeling his warm tongue piercing against my own tongue always sends shivers down my spine, making my knees weak. I grasp for his graduation gown in substitute of a moan.

He pecks at my lips innocently, turning—with his arm around me—to everyone. I blush more than I had when he kissed me at noticing them for the first time. His parents are here, as well as Kevin, Shelly, their two-year-old daughter Kayla, Karen and Firkle, Stan and his family, and Kyle and his family. But not only that, my parents are standing behind them watching too.

I swallow the lump in my throat upon seeing them, flashing a smile to Karen instead. She smiles back and pulls me and Kenny into a hug. “I’m so proud of the both of you! For two reasons!” she exclaims.

Kenny and I trade a look. He says to his sister, “Thanks, Kare.”

She pulls back, examining us both from arm’s length. Her eyes are alight with amusement. “So how long has it been?” she asks, her eyebrows raised in the slightest way.

Kenny coughs out a sound, and when I look to him, I see he’s also blushing now. “Um…” He glances at me for help.

“Two years,” I say.

Me and Kenny have been together two years. Saying aloud sounds surreal. We decided that May twenty-third’s our anniversary date, the day I told him I care about him. I never thought I’d be able to put myself through another long-term relationship, but this thing with Kenny feels right. We aren’t built on promises we don’t know if we’ll be able to keep. We’re built on what we know and what we can do. Not what we might do.

Karen silently squeals, turning to Firkle and lightly smacking his chest. They’ve never verbally expressed what they are, but it’s pretty obvious. Firkle rolls his eyes at her, and if you look carefully, you can catch a glimpse of the slightest moony smile he sends her.

Kevin and Shelly embrace Kenny next, and Kayla grabs for him. Shelly lets go of her, letting Kenny carry her. Kayla giggles bubbly, putting her head on his shoulder. Then his parents come up to congratulate him, separating us.

As they do, my parents step up to me. I stare at them. They stare at me. A gap of space stands between us. I haven’t seen my parents or spoke to them in three years. And I didn’t exactly leave on a happy note.

Dad clears his throat. He extends his hand like we’re just meeting, or like he’s calling a truce. I take his hand, shaking it. “Congratulations, Butters. On graduating,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion.

I realize it’s not a bad thing.

Mom takes a testing step forward. When I don’t move away, she closes the space between us and pulls me into her arms.

I bury my face in her shoulder. Despite everything my parents’ve done to me over the years, it’s hard to hold a grudge against them. Grudge-holding does you no good in life.

“I’m so proud of you, Butters,” she says, and she’s crying.

I blink back tears myself as she extracts herself from me. She fusses over my windblown hair. “Thanks,” I say.

I glance at Kenny as Mom looks me over the way any mother would when not having seen or heard from her only child in three years. He’s smiling faintly, but when we lock eyes, his lips part, exposing the gap in his teeth. I love that gap. He often sticks straws there like a little straw holder. He can poke a bit of his tongue through too, and it’s funny when he does. He does it now—poking the tip of his tongue through the gap in his teeth.

I giggle.

I look back to my parents to see them still fixated on me. Dad has his arms folded across his chest, but there isn’t anything threatening behind it. “He has tattoos,” he says, his voice disapproving. “Prison inmates have tattoos. Gangsters have tattoos.”

I find myself smiling and rolling my eyes at the comment. I don’t think my parents’ll ever be too accepting of my relationships. They’ll always have something to say. But I’ve learned to ignore their snide and condescending remarks after being apart from them for three years. And even if some part of me still did care, it wouldn’t affect me. Because my heart’s Kenny’s.

Mom continues to fuss over me. As she does, I stare at Kenny. He’s taking pictures with his parents, Karen, Kevin, Shelly, Shelly’s parents, and Stan too, who’s holding Kayla now. They’re all smiling, one big happy family.

The smile on Kenny’s face takes me back to our childhood, when he wore his hood over his mouth, muffling his speech. It was another language we all learned young so we could understand him. All this time though, I understood him the best. None of our other friends could fully grasp that we both came from broken homes and often felt alone in the world. But when we found each other, we were no longer alone.

When Karen lowers her phone, Kenny waves me over. Kyle’s family also joins the picture. I shoot my parents a fleeting smile as I join him. Karen raises her phone again. “Squeeze in. Everyone has to be in the picture,” she says.

Kenny holds me to his chest, and we all beam at the camera. Karen smiles down at it after she takes a few pictures, one with a silly face included. She turns to us with tears flecked in her eyes. “I can’t believe you guys are done with college,” she says. “I just started here.”

Kenny throws his arm around her, the other going around me. “You’re going into your second year. You didn’t _just_ start.”

Karen laughs. “Yes, I technically did!”

Stan's still holding Kayla when he comes up to us. “Kevin and Shelly invited us all to their place to have dinner.” He looks at me, and over my shoulder to where my parents must be standing. He looks back to me. “You should ask if they want to go,” he says.

I gnaw on my bottom lip, debating. It’d be nice to catch up, but knowing my parents, the conversation would be riddled with disapproval. After being away from them for so long, I don’t think I could take their company in more than small doses.

But it’s still polite to ask, and I was raised to be polite.

“I’ll go ask,” I decide.

Kenny squeezes my hand and kisses my cheek before I walk away. My parents stop their conversation when they see me coming. A distrusting part of me thinks they were talking about me, since when I was younger, they’d often stop conversations whenever I came into the room. “Um, we’re all goin’ back to Kenny’s brother’s house to have dinner. Would you like to come?” I ask them.

The other part of me, the part slowly slipping away, is desperately hoping they’ll say yes to prove they still do love me and care about me. But the part that’s taking over knows they’ll put me down lightly.

My parents glance at each other, then back to me. Mom offers me a close-lipped smile, chucking my chin. “It’s okay, sweetie. We have a few errands to run in Denver and we want to get them done before it gets too dark. You have fun with them though,” she says. She puts three leis over my head, leis I hadn’t noticed before.

One lei’s made of dollar bills. The other’s made of purple and white orchids. The third’s a lei made of colorful fabric flowers. Mom straightens each of them out so they’re not tangled together. She smooths her fingers over the orchids, smelling sweetly. “This one is from Hawaii,” she tells me. She sighs shortly, her shoulders rising and falling. She smiles at me again, her eyes red-rimmed. She cups my face. “My boy,” she whispers. She kisses both my cheeks. Then she steps back.

Her and Dad join hands. They walk away, each sparing me a glance over their shoulders. Both their eyes are lined red. I watch them go as they get swept away in the crowd.

I turn into Kenny’s arms, knowing he’d be there ready for me. I hug him to me, feeling an uncomfortable burn in my throat and in my eyes. If I could, I would cry. But I lost my tears two years ago. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

He rubs my back, his lips against my ear. When I speak, my voice is hiccupy with sobs that’ll never come. “I never even knew they’d be comin’,” I say.

“I know,” he says. He nuzzles into my ear, kissing my hair.

He keeps me to him as he directs me towards his family. His new, huge family that I’m a part of. Kayla points to me, making a cooing sound. Stan carefully takes her wrist, waving her hand back and forth. “That’s Butters. Can you say Butters?” he asks her.

She looks to me and makes a blubbering sound. The first syllable out her mouth's a B sound though.

I laugh, glancing at Kenny, at Stan, at Kayla. She giggles back. She has violet eyes just like Kevin and Kenny and Karen. Her tuft of hair tied in a pink bow’s brown like Shelly’s.

At Kevin and Shelly’s house, we all get comfortable. She and Kevin had moved out of their apartment and got a proper house when they’d had enough money to do so. Shelly sets out the ingredients to make our own personal pizzas on the dining table.

Despite the number of people in the small house, it doesn’t feel crowded. I think it might be the fact that the living room and the kitchen’s one big open space. Upstairs is where all the bedrooms are. Stan has Kayla standing on a chair, holding her by the waist while she slaps the pizza dough in front of her with both hands. It’s amusing to remember that Stan and Kenny are her uncles.

It’s even more amusing to watch them take care of her.

Kenny reaches across the table with a napkin to brush off the flour on her cheeks. Kayla stops what she’s doing to look up at him. He smiles down at her. “So messy,” he coos.

She giggles, throwing her head back, exposing her tiny pearly whites. She makes grabby hands at Stan when she sees him above her, getting flour on his face.

Karen comes back to the table after putting her pizza in the oven. She clasps her hands together, holding them under her chin. She says, “Aww, look how cute you three are.” She pinches Kayla’s, Kenny’s, and Stan’s noses.

Once everyone has their pizza done, we scatter about the living room, watching the collage of memories playing on the TV. It’s a combination of pictures Kyle, Stan, Kenny, and I have taken over the course of our college years.

As we watch through, I can’t believe that it’s finally over. It feels so soon that I was walking into my first lecture nervous as heck.

And starting Monday, I’ll be working full-time at the company I got a job at last year.

We leave Kevin and Shelly’s house after midnight. We’re the last ones to go. Kyle and Stan left an hour ago. Kenny gives his brother, sister-in-law, and niece each an individual hug. The family of three wave at me as Kenny puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me out of the house.

The air’s sweet with summer as we walk to the car parked on the other side of the street. Our footsteps echo down the empty sidewalk.

On the drive back, heavy sleepiness hangs over my head. The soft rumble of the tires on the road and the music playing quietly tries to lull me to sleep. Right as I’m sure I can no longer keep my eyes open, we pull into a parking space at the apartment. Kenny undoes his seat belt, then mine.

As he gets out of the car, I smile to myself. My door opens. I extend my arms. Kenny slides into my embrace, picking me up to carry me up to the apartment.

We drop onto his bed, shedding our clothes until we’re comfortable in our underwear. Kenny pulls the blankets up to our chins, pressing in close. I blink into his violet eyes, a smile forming on my face. He lifts his hand and caresses my cheek. There’s a faraway smile on his face too, half concealed by the blankets and the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> " 'Cause I love the gap between your teeth  
> And I love the riddles that you speak  
> And any snide remarks from my father about your tattoos  
> Will be ignored  
> 'Cause my heart is yours..."  
> -Ours


	35. Butters Stotch

**Winter.**

At twenty-three, Stan and Kyle have it all figured out. It’s December, and me and Kenny are helping them pack up the last of their stuff into boxes.

“I can’t believe you guys are moving away,” Kenny says, folding the flaps of the box over itself. “Leo and I aren’t that loud, are we?”

I give his head a playful shove. He grins at me. I swoon into his lap.

Kyle snorts. “No. Of course it’s not. We’re doing this because we can’t be living a slumber party all our lives,” he says.

“Yeah. And we’re only a building over. It’s not even a five minute walk,” Stan says.

“But why’d you have to move tomorrow? Christmas is in a couple days. Couldn’t you’ve waited till after?” I say.

“We want to start the new year right,” Stan says.

I stand, stacking the box I have onto a pile of others near the front door.

“There’s still, like, six days separating Christmas from New Year’s,” Kenny points out.

Kyle gives him a deadpan look. “It took us all of November to finally _start_ packing. We _so_ wouldn’t have finished in six days,” he says.

Kenny holds out his hands. “Then don’t procrastinate.”

“We’re already moving, Kenny.”

“So?”

I gasp. “We should all sleep in the living room tonight! Like a real slumber party. All four of us. We could watch a movie too!” I say.

“That sounds cool,” Stan says.

Kyle shrugs. “I mean, I have to strip the bed of my sheets anyway.”

Trying to get all of Stan and Kyle’s boxes to fit into Stan’s car’s like playing _Tetris._ I was never too good at that game. Kenny was though. He’s the main contributor to the perfect situation of the boxes in the car.

He slams the trunk after sliding in the last box. He stands proudly. “All ready to go for tomorrow,” he says.

“Thanks,” Kyle says, breathless from the countless trips from the apartment to the car.

Packing up and filling the car took all day. The sky’s dark now. The wind’s cold, but it feels good on my warm cheeks. We’re all tired. Moving away’s hard. Even just planning to move isn’t so easy. Kenny and I went to Hawaii this summer. He suggested out of the blue that we should move to Kauai once we have the funds. We started looking for homes while we were there, as well as once we came home. It was exhausting, and a little sickening to see the prices of the homes. We predict that hopefully by twenty-five, we’ll have enough money to execute our plans.

Kenny and I still have the lingering effects of an entire summer spent in Kauai. Our skin’s still tanned, our hair still light. Kyle says that we still smell like saltwater and coconut. Kenny’s freckles are darker too, more abundant.

Kenny and I have a theory that Stan and Kyle realized they liked being alone together while we were away. They say they’ve been planning it for longer, but we think it wasn’t until we were gone for three and a half months that their plan was put into motion.

In the apartment, we drape our blankets and pillows over the couches and coffee table. The makeshift fort reminds me of all the other forts I’ve made in the past. Five years ago, my life was pinkie promises in blanket forts. Now my life’s cloud watching on Hawaiian beaches.

And even in this fort of blankets in the living room of my apartment, it’s different from all those previous forts. This fort isn’t so quiet and intimate. It’s filled with laughter and crude jokes. There’s a closeness that only friends share.

Stan makes two bags of popcorn, pouring it into a big blue bowl and setting it under the coffee table. We hold our hot cocoas close to our chests, keeping us warm. We have our top halves out of the fort so we can watch _Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse_ without blankets blocking our vision.

When the movie ends, Stan puts on _Infinity War,_ even though all him and Kyle talk about is _Endgame_ in hushed tones like they don’t want to spoil it for me and Kenny, despite the four of us having watched it at least three times already.

I have my head on my pillow, fighting to keep my eyes open. I don’t bother paying attention to the movie. I can sit still for only so long.

Kenny’s laying next to me, facing me. “You good?” he asks.

“I’m great. Though I’m a little sad Stan and Kyle are leaving tomorrow,” I confess.

He scoots in closer, our noses pressed together. He whispers, “We’ll drop surprise visits on them. They gave us a key, remember?”

I laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck, touching our foreheads. “What about us?” I ask.

“Oh. Well, they’ll still have their keys, so they can also visit whenever—”

“No. I mean, when will we move?”

His eyes glint, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “You already know. We’ve talked this over at least a hundred times,” he says.

“Well tell me again.”

His hands go up my shirt. “Remember that condo we checked out? The one with the two balconies and marble counters? We’ll live there. I mean, if it’s still available in two years. It’s going for four hundred, seventy thousand. But even if it’s not for rent anymore, then we’ll find a house closer to the beach. We’ll go snorkeling and shit. We’ll learn to surf. I’ll teach you to play the ukulele. And we’ll, like, learn how to dance the hula,” he says.

“Tell me about how we’ll get there,” I say.

“We keep working hard. You keep your desk job, I keep my job at the hospital. Once we feel like we have enough, we’ll find a place. We’ll fly to Kauai to check it out, and if we like it, we’ll buy it. Then we’ll fly back home and pack up our stuff. Not all of it. Just the essentials. Then we’ll get back on a one-way. We’ll spend the first month looking for jobs while enjoying the weather. In the daytime we’ll look. At night, we’ll go swimming. We’ll have a complete start-over there. We’ll be happy,” he says.

“And we’ll be together,” I add, interlocking our fingers.

He smiles, exposing the gap in his teeth.

 

Having to follow Stan’s car with Kenny’s is sad, even though the drive doesn’t even last two minutes. I don’t like having to see people go. I guess the good thing’s that Stan and Kyle are within walking distance. Kenny parks crooked in the vacant spot next to Stan. Kyle steps out of the car, coming this close to hitting the door against Kenny’s.

He drops his hands to his thighs. “What the fuck is this, Kenny?” he asks, gesturing to the slanted way the car’s parked.

“A car?” Kenny says, wriggling out of the tiny crack of space he has to get out of.

I get out too, standing next to Stan. We stare at the horrible parking.

Kyle rolls his eyes at Kenny, opening the trunk of Stan’s car. “Stop being useless and help,” he says.

“Okay, Mom,” Kenny jokes.

Kyle shoots him a dangerous look as Stan and I laugh.

Stan and Kyle’s apartment has two bedrooms and two bathrooms. The bedrooms are at either side of the apartment. The living room and the kitchen are in the middle. It’s homey, but it’s also plain. The furniture’s a generic gray and white. The framed pictures on the wall are close-ups of flowers and landmarks like the Colosseum. Hopefully they’ll add their own touches to it soon.

Once we have everything out on the floor, we collapse on their one couch. They don’t gotta balcony. They also don’t gotta breakfast bar. They gotta kitchen island that can seat four instead.

“This place is cool,” Kenny says. He tosses his gaze around before it lands on me. He smiles and wraps an arm around me. I snuggle up close.

“We can still use your Netflix account though, right, Stan?” I say.

The three turn to me, halfway between a laugh and a gasp of shock.

I grin, putting my fingertips against Kenny’s. I can feel his blood pulsing against my skin. “I don’t wanna have to pay for my _own_ Netflix account,” I add.

Stan picks up his jaw, laughing. “Yeah. Just because we’ve moved out doesn’t mean I’m gonna force you to pay for your own account. God forbid that,” he says sarcastically.

Kenny bursts out laughing. “Damn. I’ve had your Netflix since, like, middle school, huh?”

Stan nods. “More like fourth grade, but sure.”

We hang out at their apartment for a couple hours. Kyle brings out lukewarm beers, limiting Stan and Kenny to only two. I decline when he offers me one.

He shrugs, using the bottle opener in his hand to pop off the cap. “Your loss.” He raises it to his lips and takes a sip. “You want some water or something?”

“Do you have orange juice?”

“Yeah, hang on.”

He returns with a glass of orange juice, plupless.

We play a round of Uno. Once Kyle wins after hitting Stan with a plus four, Kenny and I get back in the car and drive for less than two minutes back to our home. The apartment with four bedrooms feels empty without four people to inhabit it.

I follow Kenny into what was Stan and Kyle’s rooms. Both are empty. They look the way they did when we first moved in five years ago. They even returned the plain white comforter and pillows to the beds. We all had changed the sheets after having moved in for a week.

Kenny turns to me, his back against the wall. “It’s gonna be lonely without them,” he says, hindering a hint of sadness from his voice.

I touch his wrist. “I know. But if you and me are gonna be livin’ on our own in a completely new state, we better get used to it.”

The part about moving states, an ocean and hours separating all I’ve known, is what scares me the most.

Kenny’s fingers circle mine. “It’s like practice,” he says, his words light and cheerful.

“Just like practice,” I agree.

He closes what was Stan’s door, I close what was Kyle’s. We sit in the living room together, leaving all the lights off. The living room’s lit dimly by moonlight. We sit in the dark and in the quiet for a while, our fingers tangled at our sides. The second couch in front of the balcony seems so empty and lonely without Stan and Kyle to occupy it with their cuddling.

“How does McDonald’s sound for dinner? I’m too lazy to make something,” he says.

My head drops to his shoulder. “Me too. McDonald’s sounds fine. Haven’t had that in a minute,” I say.

“Shocker, right?”

Kenny leaves me five minutes later alone in the dark of the apartment. I’ve been left alone with the apartment before, but the thought that Stan, Kyle, and Kenny’d be coming home soon was always in the back of my mind. But now that Stan and Kyle are on their own, that warm assurance isn’t as prominent. I still have Kenny, but ever since finding out he’s immortal, I’m always worried when he goes off on his own, afraid he’ll die and won’t come back to me.

I decide to turn on the TV to chase away the heavy silence. I change the channel from kids cartoons to the news. I chuckle to myself, wrinkling my nose. I really just chose the news over _Spongebob,_ huh? What kinda abomination have I grown into? An adult, I guess.

I take a folded-up blanket resting on the arm of the couch, wrapping it around my shoulders. I bring my legs up onto the couch, tucking them under me.

I’ve never much liked the news. As a kid, I thought it was boring. As a teenager, I thought it was fulla car crashes and death and a whole lotta sad. And now as an adult, I think it’s just a way for me to see what’s happening in the world without having to go experience it myself.

Funny how as me and my friends grew older, our misadventures died out too. It’s almost disappointing. I loved a little mischief. I miss it. The chaos made life colorful. Life still is colorful, just not as vibrant. It’s more of a muted, glazed over kinda colorful now. Like pastel.

I love pastel.

I change the channel, bored of hearing about nightly traffic. The image changes from a blocked road to a white background. A woman sits in a chair. Her mouth’s moving as she talks to the person in the chair across from her—

I bolt upright when I recognize him.

“Eric?” I blurt.

I turn up the volume of the TV. It really is him. It’s his voice and his hair and his eyes. On TV. He’s dressed casually, in the same Teddy Fresh hoodie he wore years ago. He’s in black jeans. He’s even wearing black sneakers, but they’re red-bottoms. He looks different, but he looks the same too.

I haven’t seen or spoke to him in four years, I realize.

The interviewer asks, “—it like being twenty-two and almost a billionaire?”

He laughs. “I mean, cool, I guess. It’s not like it’s a brand new thing to hear about these days,” he says.

I turn up the volume louder, almost to the point I can’t hear my own thoughts. Eric’s an almost-billionaire? Since when?

Like she can read my thoughts, the interviewer says, “So tell us about how you got to the point where you’re at now. You’ve never really spoken about it, and people, me included, are curious. What drove you to start a business that specializes in advanced technology that benefits the human body and ability?”

Eric sits back, upturning a palm. “I really started Unprecedented as a distraction. I was nineteen, going through a rough period of my life. I desperately needed something to keep my mind off of it. I was majoring in business, so I thought to myself, ‘why not start a business?’ As a kid, I always had a kick for wanting to run one. You know, be the big boss, tell people what to do, get rich. I was pretty good at it too. I mean, when I got into the public eye, a couple people recognized me as that kid who was the CEO of the Redskins—the company, not the team. I mean, I was a kid then, so none of my ‘businesses’ really took off, or lasted more than a couple of weeks. So forcing myself back into that ambitious mindset, I started my business. I was friends with Arthur Diaz, who’s my main engineer now, and he wanted to sell the stuff he was making. So we started this thing together. I dealt with the business aspect, he dealt with the science and math aspect. Um, at the time, I didn’t expect it to do so good, or for it to take off so fast. But it did. So that was cool. Arthur and I just kept doing what we’d been doing, and next thing we know, we’re banking millions. And almost billions now,” he explains.

My head whirls with thoughts. Eric’s got a company? What rough period of his life’s he talking about? Who’s Arthur Diaz? What does his company do?

I’m about to reach for my phone to Google all my questions, but the door opens. A yelp leaves me. Kenny laughs. “Did I startle you?” he says. “I got everything you like.” He sets the McDonald’s bag on the counter.

“Kenny!” I exclaim. “Check this out! They’re interviewing Eric. I—I think he’s a millionaire. Did you know about this?”

Kenny frowns as he rifles through the bag, making sure everything’s there. “Who, Cartman? I heard something about it at work. I don’t know the details though,” he says.

“Why didn’t you say nothin’?” I say.

Kenny brings the bag over to the living room, sitting down next to me. He hands me my McNuggets. “Forgot.” His eyes are on the TV.

I turn back to the TV too, slowly chewing on a nugget. Eric’s just finished talking, and the interviewer asks him, “What was this rough period of time, exactly?”

He chuckles, somewhat nervously. If I didn’t know him so well, I wouldn’t notice the faint color blooming on his cheeks. He looks away from the lady, something he’d often do when flustered. “Um, yeah. That’s, uh, private. I’m not ready to talk about that,” he says.

“What’re they talking about?” Kenny asks, taking a bite of his Big Mac.

“He was sayin’ how he started the business ‘cause of a rough patch he went through when he was nineteen,” I answer softly.

We trade a look, the same thought passing through our minds.

“All right. So. Enough of the business talk. I think we’re all curious about your relationship status. You’re twenty-two, successful, good-looking, and you’ve never spoken about it. Got a special secret someone in your life?” the interviewer asks, a coy smirk on her face.

“Is she hitting on him?” Kenny mutters.

On the TV, Eric nervously laughs again. He opens his mouth to speak, but my thumb acts before my brain can process what’s happening, and flips the channel.

My breath’s coming in short, my heart hammering against my chest. Kenny notices, wrapping his arm around me. He doesn’t mention the fact that I changed the channel right when they were gonna talk about Eric’s relationship status. “Google his net worth,” he says.

I look at him. “Isn’t that kinda… impertinent, baby doll?” I ask.

“Nah. Everyone else is probably doing it,” he assures me.

Hesitantly, I pick up my phone. My fingers shake as I type Eric’s name into the search bar. The top result is “Eric Cartman net worth.” Following that’s “Eric Cartman age,” “Eric Cartman height.” The last result, though, is “Eric Cartman married.” Something about that unsettles me, and I press on the net worth search before I bring up what little I’ve eaten of my nuggets.

Kenny whistles low. “Nine hundred, eighty million? How’s that possible?”

I scroll down, reading the titles of articles about him. I hover my thumb over the second link. “I’ve heard of Cornea. My boss has one. Uses it all the time. I didn’t know it’s Eric’s…” I say.

Kenny kisses my head. “I think I’ve seen Best Buy selling some last time I went there.”

Kenny and I read through articles about business mogul Eric Cartman and his company, Unprecedented. Kenny snorts at the name. “A bit brazen, don’t you think?” he says.

“When’s he not?” I mutter under my breath.

He started it at nineteen, and it quickly took off within a year. All of the articles we read state that the business was started as a distraction, but no distraction’s specified. It’s pretty obvious though. Or it’s obvious to those who knew him before his career took off, anyway.

Kenny eventually gets his own phone out after we’ve finished eating. He looks up Eric’s house, despite me telling him not to. He says, “Damn. Look at this.” He holds his phone out to me.

He’s on Google Images. The house is huge. It’s built in an 1800’s kinda style. There are white columns leading up to the huge double doors. There’s a pool, a tennis court, and even what looks like a courtyard featuring a fountain at the front of the house. It’s surrounded by trees and mowed lawns and trimmed hedges.

“He lives _there?”_ I ask.

“Apparently,” Kenny says. “He’s got the money for it anyway.”

“Wow,” I mumble.

We get sorta lost spiraling down this rabbit hole that is Eric Cartman. We learn that he has companies all over the country. While he’s the face of the company, Arthur Diaz, the engineer, is the brain behind all the stuff. The stuff they manufacture’s heavily based on science fiction and comic books because that’s what Arthur grew up with. We learn that more’s known about Unprecedented than Eric Cartman himself. He doesn’t share much about his personal life or past. He only has a Twitter. One article speculates that the private Instagram account @thecoon is Eric Cartman’s personal account. The article’s right too. That account’s Eric’s. I haven’t checked in years though, and ‘cause I haven’t viewed his profile lately, I haven’t been getting his posts.

Eventually, Kenny says, “We should go to sleep. We have work tomorrow.”

“Yeah. We should,” I agree. I follow him into his room.

We crawl under the covers after washing up and getting into our pajamas. Kenny drops into sleep easily, but I find it more of a challenge. My mind races. That search result for Eric being married burns behind my eyelids.

I pick my phone up from the bedside table it’s charging on. I scoot closer to Kenny’s chest until I’m flush against him. His arm tightens around me, sending a wave of calm through me.

I let out a quiet breath as I go onto Google. I search up Eric’s name again, and this time, I press on the search result for his marital status.

I go to the first article. My eyes fly over the words. I’m both prepared to be afraid and happy to discover that Eric’s in a relationship. But as I read through the article, I find the sentence that reveals the answer: " **Eric Cartman’s relationship status remains a mystery, but it is unlikely that he is married, or in a relationship at all.** "

The sentence leaves me feeling, well, nothing. Eric’s not married. He’s probably not even in a relationship. Relationships were always second to him when it came to his success when he wasn’t _in_ a relationship. Relationships never became a conscious thought in his mind until we got together. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s not in a relationship because he’s too busy working.

That makes me sad.

I want Eric to be happy. He is with his business, I guess, but I was hoping he’d be in a relationship so he could balance out that ambition.

No longer feeling restless, I shut off my phone, placing it back on the bedside table. I turn into Kenny, facing him. I put my hands on his freckled chest. I stare at his sleeping face. His eyes move beneath his eyelids as he dreams. I find myself smiling. I feel golden just being next to him. Carefully, I brush a piece of hair from his forehead. I kiss him lightly there, followed by his chin, then his nose, and finally, his lips, where my own lips linger. I fall asleep like that: with my lips on his, curled up close next to him.


	36. Butters Stotch

**Spring.**

The invitation to Clyde and Bebe’s wedding is embossed in cursive gold letters. I sit with Kenny on the couch. I’d come home from work and checked the mail, sifting through it. I saw the envelope addressed to us from Clyde and Bebe in fancy gold letters. Instantly, I knew what the letter inside held. We heard about their extravagant engagement a year ago. Kenny and I were in Kauai at the time, so we only received texts and pictures. It was still exciting though.

Kenny runs his fingers over the letters like they’re real gold as I read aloud, “ ‘To our friends Butters Stotch and Kenny McCormick, you are cordially invited to the wedding of Bebe Stevens and Clyde Donovan. Join us on Friday, the thirty-first of May at five o’clock in the afternoon.’ ”

“Whoa,” Kenny breathes.

I read down further. “They’re having it in Cabo!” I exclaim.

“Cabo San Lucas, Mexico?” he asks.

“Yeah! And they said they’ll pay for the plane tickets!”

 _“What?”_ Kenny examines the letter closer. “I mean, I know she’s a doctor and all, but, like, they’re gonna pay for plane tickets too? Are they insane?”

“I wonder how many they’re inviting?” I mumble.

“Well they can’t invite much if they’re gonna fly each of their guests out,” he says.

“True.”

Kenny and I’ve never been to Cabo.

The name of the place they’re having the wedding sounds fancy, so Kenny Googles it. “Jesus, that’s one nice looking Spanish villa,” he says.

The building’s painted a pale tan with a brown tiled roof. The entrance is surrounded by tall columns, palm trees, and water in the ground. It looks kinda like a moat. There are big windows on the walls, shining gold in the light. Kenny goes to another picture, featuring the back of the villa. There’s a big balcony that extends over the ocean. A giant archway opens up into the ballroom. There’s no door between. The picture’s taken at dawn, the sky orange and pink, the clouds wispy.

“Wow,” I whisper.

We go back to the invitation. Under the address to the place, there’s a note in parenthesis that says: “ ‘(There are rooms in the villa that we’ll be staying in. We’ll text you your flight times.)’ ” Under that’s Bebe’s signature.

Kenny and I trade a wide-eyed look.

 

During the whole flight, I’m shot with excitement. I can’t wait to see the villa. It’s only the twenty-ninth, but Clyde and Bebe explained they want us to enjoy the Cabo weather for a couple of days before the wedding.

When we got to the airport this morning, we saw all our friends. We saw Token and Nichole and their five-month-old son. Jimmy, Annie, Heidi, Red and Kevin Stoley, Stan and Kyle—they were all there. It was like a giant reunion, seeing all our friends in one place after what feels like so long. We take up the whole middle of the plane. Clyde and Bebe’s parents, as well as Wendy, flew down to Cabo on the twenty-fifth to rehearse and make sure everything’s going perfect.

At the villa, we get a tour. There’s a pool out back and an open-air space where the wedding’ll take place. The ballroom leads to the balcony that Kenny and I saw in the picture. We find out the whole entire place is rented out for the wedding. Then we’re shown our rooms.

Each of the couples have their own room. As we go down the hallway, the couples are dropped off. It’s in this hallway where Clyde and Bebe show up to point out which room’s whose.

The two rooms closest to the grand staircase are where their parents are staying. Red and Kevin are left next, then Jimmy and Annie. I catch a glimpse of the inside of their room. The first thing I notice are the two separate beds.

“Just in case,” Bebe whispers to me.

I laugh.

Token and Nichole and Jordan are left at their room. After them’s Heidi, Stan and Kyle, me and Kenny. We step into our room, awestruck. An entire wall’s missing, giving way to our own personal balcony that overlooks the city. There are doors propped open that can be closed during nighttime. The bed’s king-sized. The bathroom has its own jacuzzi, and we have a bar too.

“What the fuck,” Kenny breathes.

Clyde laughs.

Him and Bebe are standing in the doorway, leaning against each other. They look so happy and in love. Everyone expected them to get married at eighteen, not twenty-five, but they ended up waiting until they were settled down and had enough money to have a wedding. It’s a good plan.

Bebe points out into the hallway to the remaining doors. “Your neighbor is Wendy,” she says. Her finger moves to the door across from ours. “That’s Craig and Tweek’s.” She points at the room with double doors at the end of the hallway. “That’s mine and Clyde’s.”

She leaves out the door across from Wendy, but I have a feeling I know who’ll be staying in that room.

Bebe beams at us. “Have fun.” She leaves us with a wink before closing the door.

Kenny and I stare at each other. “What should we do first?” he asks.

“Swim?”

“Swim.”

We aren’t the only ones with the idea to go down for a dip in the pool as the sun sinks under the calm waves of the ocean. Craig and Tweek are down here too, their arms resting on the concrete as their bodies float in the water.

They smile when they see us coming. “Long time no see,” Tweek greets.

Kenny and I go into the pool. The water’s warmed by the sun. “How’s California?” I ask.

Both look so different. Like me and Kenny when we come back from Kauai, their skin’s a bit darker, their hair lighter. They both look a bit more toned. Tweek’s arms look bigger and Craig’s leaner than we last saw him.

Tweek says, “Good. It’s always so warm there. Different from back home.”

I nod.

Kenny asks in a hushed voice, “Do you guys know how Bebe and Clyde are paying for this shit?”

“Baby doll!” I scold.

Kenny kisses me in response.

Craig shrugs. “Me and Tweek drove. But I heard that their parents are helping pay for stuff. And, um…” He and Tweek trade a look before both their eyes land on me. “Well, the funding for everyone’s flight ticket was a part of their wedding gift. From elsewhere.”

“Where?” I ask, thinking of something shady like drug deals and murders and mafia members. My stomach drops.

They say nothing, just staring at me.

Kenny seems to understand what they’re implying. “Oh,” he says knowingly. He puts his hand on the small of my back.

I look at him. “What?” I ask. My words take on an edge of panic. “Whaddya mean? Where’re they getting funding from elsewhere?”

Tweek forces a smile. “U-Stor-It Usual,” he mumbles.

I tilt my head, my brow furrowing. I’m about to ask what that means when it hits me. I tense up. “Oh.”

Craig nods as an awkward silence settles over us. The small ripples of the pool spill onto the concrete. A breeze blows through our hair. Kenny leans into me, his chest on my back. His arms go around my front, pulling me close to him. I look up at him. He glances down at me, smirking. He drops a kiss to my mouth.

“How’s NASA going?” Kenny asks Craig and Tweek.

They brighten at the question. “Pretty awesome,” Craig answers. He and Tweek both got a job at the NASA down in Pasadena. They go into their story about how they both managed to get jobs there. Tweek’s always been a great storyteller, so his enthusiastic tone of voice has my gut twisting with excitement as they explain.

Eventually, they say they have to go rehearse for the wedding, since Craig’s Clyde’s best man. Kenny nods as we squint up at the two as they towel off. “I remember being my brother’s best man. I was nervous the whole time,” he says.

Tweek laughs. “Glad I’m not one of the groomsmen,” he mutters.

“How many groomsmen is he gonna have?” I wonder.

“Just me,” Craig says. “Then Wendy’s the maid of honor.”

They leave not long after that. I wriggle from Kenny’s embrace, turning onto my back in the water and closing my eyes against the sky. Kenny steers me around by my feet, pushing me all over the pool. The water drifts through the spaces between my fingers, over my stomach.

We swim in the pool until the moon and stars hang above us and our fingers and toes are wrinkled like raisins. We wrap ourselves in sun-warmed white towels sitting on one of the lounge chairs. In our room, he showers while I sit in the bath, swiping my fingers through the candy-scented bubbles. When Kenny gets out of the shower, he sits at the edge of the bath. He smooths my hair up into a mohawk.

“Do I look hardcore, baby doll?” I ask jokingly.

“Hell yeah,” he says.

We smile at each other. His golden hair’s fluffy from scrubbing his towel over it.

“I love you,” I murmur, sitting up and leaning in closer.

He stares at my lips, then my eyes. The depths of violet always calm me. His head tilts, connecting our mouths. I moan into the kiss without really meaning to. He repositions himself so he can kiss me more fervently and deeper. I run my hand down his bare chest, getting him wet all over again.

His voice is husky when he speaks. “Want me to help you dry off?”

I nod, unable to talk, my eyes still closed.

He helps me stand and step out of the bath, his eyes roaming over me in a way that sends goosebumps over my skin. He leads me to the shower where he rinses off the suds in my hair and on my skin. I turn off the shower, and he kisses me hard.

I go all breathy when he takes his towel from around his waist to use it to get me dry. We stumble over to the bed, the mattress soft under my back. The doors to the balcony are still open, filling the room with the rustle of palm trees and light breezes.

Kenny kisses my open mouth, his piercing clicking against my teeth. I melt on his tongue like candy. My hands graze his freckled shoulders down to his back. He whispers my name between kisses to my face, down my neck, to my collarbone.

I whine out his, needy and starving for him. He lifts my thigh up to his hip, getting closer.

From there on, we’re a tangle of limbs and heated skin. Each one of his thrusts tells me how much he loves me, how much he’s willing to risk for me. I tell him the same by pushing back, needing more friction. He kisses me through it all. He kisses me everywhere, capturing my sighs between his lips. Kenny doesn’t often cut his hair, letting it grow until it curls into his ears and hangs just below his eyebrows. When we have sex and when he kisses me through it, his hair tickles me, making me laugh and moan at the same time. It’s just the greatest mess.

I strangle out a cry from my throat, my nails digging into his back. “Fuck yeah. Oh, baby doll,” I whine.

He grunts, kissing my teeth.

I cum first, crying out and arching, going limp. He cums next not long after me, but he rides it out until he collapses on top of me. He rolls us onto our sides, pulling out slow. We kiss sloppily, our arms around each other. The curtains at the window rustle in the night wind, entering the room and cooling our skin.

I pant into his chest, whimpering. He squeezes me, muttering, “I love you, Leo. I love you.”

I’m half asleep when I feel Kenny get up and close the doors to the balcony, pulling the curtains over the windows. He crawls back into bed, pulling the blankets over our shoulders, tucking me close to heart.

 

The sand on the beach is soft between my toes. Kenny swings our hands as we walk closer to the water’s edge. There are people on the beach selling stuff. They got mats spread out, and stuff on those mats set out around them. They wear straw hats that provide them shade. The villa’s rented out privately, but the beach is still open to the public.

Kenny and I find a spot under a group of palm trees, the shade cooling the itchy heat on my skin. Tied between two palm tree’s a hammock. I put our towels and our cooler of food on the hammock.

“Wanna race?” Kenny asks, nudging me with his shoulder.

I return his smirk. “Bet.”

Kenny and I bend into a running stance, our eyes set on the water ahead of us. “Ready?” he says. “Set… Go!”

We take off, the sand slipping under our feet. Kenny makes it in first, water splashing and sloshing around his legs. I run right into him, more on purpose than accident. He yelps, toppling over backwards into the water. I hug him to me as the salty ocean water envelopes us. We surface, sputtering and gasping.

I laugh at the look Kenny gives me, his hair plastered to his forehead, dripping into his violet eyes. I push back his hair, kissing him softly. His arms around my waist pull me closer. He kisses me harder. I can taste the saltwater on his lips.

We swim deeper into the water, where it grows cooler and the sandy bottom drops from beneath our feet.

“This place kind of reminds me of Hawaii,” Kenny says.

We’re floating on our backs, hand in hand, staring up at the cloudless sky.

“It kinda does,” I agree. I listen to the sound of gentle waves rolling over our stomachs. “I hope that condo in Kauai’s the one.”

“Yeah. I have a feeling it will be.” He lets out a breath. I turn my head towards him, seeing that his eyes are closed. His mouth’s smiling. “Only a few more weeks until we go back and make that place ours.”

I pull my legs underwater, upright. Kenny’s eyes open. My hands are at either side of his face. He smiles at me moonily. He kisses me, his tongue parting my lips. We kiss a lot as we swim, which isn’t too easy. We have to multitask, kicking and kissing, but I think that’s what makes us want to continue doing it, because it’s a challenge. And I get high off the fluttering in the bottom of my stomach every time he puts his lips on mine.

It feels like hours later when we’re kneeling in the sand, digging a pit near the water. Every time a gentle waves drifts onto shore, it pools into the pit and over our feet. It also knocks a buncha sand into the pit, putting us back at square one.

“What’s it like, dyin’?” I ask him, shoveling out some sand.

“It hurts,” Kenny says.

He says it casually, but it still makes my stomach drop. I look up at him. He continues to dig out the wet sand from the bottom of the pit. He must feel my stare on him, because he stops and meets my eye. “What?” he says.

I drop the pink plastic shovel, scooping him up into my embrace. He’s rigid, startled, at first. But then he reciprocates, burying his face in my shoulder. He holds me tight. I wonder what it’s like, knowing something about yourself that no matter what you do, everyone else can’t know that about you. I can only imagine it as lonely.

Eventually, we give up, sitting in the pit, squashed together. We make out shamelessly, hot from the sun and the slowness of his tongue against mine. He caresses my sides from my hips up. It’s funny, sometimes. I used to think that someone else, someone entirely different, was the one who fit me perfect. It’s funny that now I see how wrong I was. I was so blinded by young love to see that perhaps there was someone else out there who fit me even better. Kenny fits me like a missing piece of myself I’d finally found. Kenny’s the very last puzzle piece, the piece that makes the picture whole and colorful, so you can see the whole thing in all its glory.

We break for a breath of sea air, salty with seaweed and fragrant with blossomed flowers.

I cup Kenny’s cheeks, admiring his face. “Y’know somethin’, baby doll? You make me wanna burst into song sometimes,” I tell him.

He quirks an eyebrow. “Elaborate, please.”

I grin. “I dunno. You just make me feel so happy that I just wanna scream at the top of my lungs about how much I love you. Like I could burst at the seams into a buncha butterflies and sunlight and gold and melody. You make me feel that.”

He chuckles lightly, his eyes softening into something gentle. His gaze has gotten a lot more tender over the years. He used to have a sharp, charming grin that made everyone in the room swoon. Now, his smiles are softer, but it captures the attention of the whole world.

“You make me feel the same,” he says, murmuring.

We smile at each other. I lean in, pecking at his lips.

He says, “Why don’t we rent some surfboards? I saw a vendor back the way we came. We should probably learn to surf, especially if we’ll be living by the beach.”

“Perfect.”

Lessons are only five dollars more than the cost of two surfboards, so we fit for that, figuring it’ll be easier with a professional teaching us how to do stuff properly. The waves aren’t too wild. Our instructor tells us it’s both good and bad. It’ll be easier to learn to stand and balance without the push of the waves, but it’ll be harder to actually get surfing.

Kenny learns quickly, soon swimming out further and standing on his board, coasting on a small wave. He signs at me in ASL as he passes. _I love you,_ his hand says.

I roll my eyes at him playfully. “Show off!” I shout after him. I look at the instructor. “You gotta help me get the hang of this.”

He nods.

It takes a few hours, but I get it right soon enough. I topple over into the water more often than Kenny does, but it’s fun surfacing and laughing with him about it. He takes my hand, hoisting me outta the water and onto his board. I keep my foot on mine so it doesn’t drift off. Water drips from Kenny’s hair onto his face. I lean in to lick the saltwater from his lips. It makes him laugh, pressing his tongue against mine.

He paddles us back to shore. We return our boards, thanking our instructor. He smiles at us.

Kenny and I check on the hammock with our stuff just to make sure none of it’s gone. Everything’s still there, to our relief. We leave the towels untouched, fitting for air-drying. We walk down the beach, hand in hand.

“Where do you go after death?” I ask.

Him admitting that his deaths hurt has been bugging me all day. Kenny swings our hands, his head tilted up to the sun, thinking. “Depends,” he says. “I go to hell more often than heaven.”

“Hell?” I blurt. I narrow my eyes, feeling like I’m being toyed with. “Baby doll, why would you go to hell? You’re a good person!”

He chuckles, like I’m too naive to really understand. I guess it’s true. I bend down, picking up a broken seashell and dropping it into the blue bucket I have in my free hand.

“Hell isn’t so bad. It usually depends on how I die, and however I died, I end up in heaven or hell. Like if I sacrifice myself, I usually go to heaven. If I die doing something sinful, like, jerking off in a Batman costume, I’ll probably end up in hell.”

“Oh.”

“Wanna know something though?” he asks.

“Course,” I say.

“My deaths are like a restart. Like you said, I have no scars, because it’s all a restart. Remember when I quit smoking when we were eighteen? I’d died because I was ran over again. Anyway, I didn’t smoke after that because I figured if I did, I might develop health problems because of it in the future if I didn’t die from that point on. So just to be safe, I stopped. It’s good too, because I haven’t died since,” he explains.

I shake my head, struck with awe and fear. “I’ve no idea how you did it, baby doll, from a child to eighteen.”

He laughs. “Me too.”

I stop, picking up a whole sand dollar. I show it to him. “Look at this!” I exclaim.

He beams. I gently place the sand dollar into the bucket, smiling to myself at that lovestruck, proud look he gave me.

Kenny helps me collect seashells. We decide which to keep, which to toss into the ocean. Most of the broken pieces get tossed into the waves.

We approach a man sitting on a mat surrounded by a bunch of whittled things. He waves us over, speaking in Spanish. Neither me nor Kenny know a bit of Spanish, but we get the gist of what he wants. We crouch by the mat, examining the stuff he’s selling. There are dolphins, whales, and topless mermaids. Kenny picks up one of the painted mermaids, grinning naughtily at me.

“She’s pretty, don’t you think?” he asks.

I laugh, nodding. “So pretty.”

He looks to the man. “How much?” he asks.

“Fifteen,” the man says.

“Fifteen,” Kenny murmurs. He hands the wooden mermaid figure to me.

I feel the grooves of her shimmery green scales. It’s so intricate and so detailed. There are individual waves of her black hair and a pink starfish on the side of her head. There are pearls around her neck and green seaweed around her wrists like bracelets. She doesn’t feel or look like she’s made outta wood though. It’s so smooth and polished and perfect.

The man picks up a woven teal bracelet with a moon charm in the center, gesturing to Kenny then to me. “You like it?” he asks.

“Umm...” Kenny says.

I run my thumb over the thread. It’s so soft, and this man has such a friendly wrinkled face that I wanna buy everything on his mat. I look to Kenny with begging eyes, holding both the mermaid and the bracelet. For good measure, I mumble a “Baby doll” in a whiny, childish voice.

The corner of Kenny’s mouth lifts. He picks up a ukulele by his feet. He strums it, then tunes it, and strums it some more.

He starts playing something, just a random progression of chords.

“You should get it,” I tell him, nudging him with my shoulder.

He stares down at the ukulele longingly. “I should. I haven’t played in so long.”

The man shuffles around, handing Kenny an orange bracelet with a sun charm. He points to the ukulele, the bracelets, and the mermaid. “For you, thirty-five,” he says, smiling.

Kenny runs his lip through his teeth.

I lean my body on his, whispering, “Please, baby doll? We don’t get souvenirs in Kauai anymore, and this might be the last time we ever come to Cabo.”

We lock eyes. He searches mine before kissing me. He gives in, fishing his wallet outta his pocket. He hands the man two twenties. “Keep the change,” he tells him.

The man beams wider. _“Gracias. Que tengan un buen día, señores.”_

Kenny and I stand. I carefully put the mermaid in the bucket. Kenny puts his ukulele in too. _“Gracias,”_ I say, because I know what that means. Just not the rest. As we walk away, we help each other tie the bracelets around our wrists. Kenny strums his ukulele as we walk back, a bounce in his step. I giggle, dancing with him too.

We go back to the hammock. I set the bucket of seashells and wooden mermaids on the sand. Kenny puts our towels on top of the bucket. I sit in the hammock, leaning back and feeling it swing gently with the breeze.

Kenny gets in too, facing me opposite. His legs are at my either side. I put my hands on his calves. His leg hair gets light in the summer. He holds the ukulele to his chest, tuning it again. He strums random chords with his eyes closed. Then he opens his mouth and begins to sing a melody from another song I haven’t heard in a while.

I relax, listening to the beautiful sound of his voice.

_“So I won’t hesitate no more, no more_

_It cannot wait, I’m sure_

_There’s no need to complicate_

_Our time is short_

_This is our fate, I’m yours_

_But do, do, do, do you, but do you, do, do, do you, but do you want to come on, scooch on over closer, dear_

_And I will nibble your ear...”_

He opens his eyes, winking at me, still singing. I smile. I’ve always loved the sound of ukuleles. They’re so relaxing and they always remind me of Hawaii. I was so happy when Kenny started to learn how to play back when we came back from Kauai in fourth grade.

And now with his voice and the ukulele mixing together, it’s the most beautiful sound on the beach. The few people still on the sand watching the sunset turn toward us, listening to Kenny sing too.

I bob to the music, feeling like I might burst again. Kenny always looks the most relaxed when he’s singing. His eyes are still on mine, staring into me in adoration as he scats. The wind ruffles his hair, sweeping it across his forehead. He wrinkles his freckled nose at me. I wrinkle mine back. I feel bubbly from my toes up.

 

Her arm linked through her dad’s, Bebe walks down the aisle looking like she stepped outta a 50’s silver screen. She has a big white rose in her done-up hair. Her hair’s loosely curled. She probably had to have it straightened then curled up again to get it to look like that. Her lips are red. Aside from that, her makeup’s simple. She has eyeliner on, natural-looking fake eyelashes, and her cheeks are rosy. Diamonds drip from her ears. Her white dress is tea length, the neckline lacy. She’s 50’s from the red nails, to the bouquet of red roses, to her white one-inch heels.

Clyde up at the front dabs his teary eyes. Everyone expected him to cry during his wedding. When Bebe gets up to the front, she faces him, taking a hand from the bouquet to squeeze his fingers. He smiles at her. She smiles back.

Bebe and Clyde’s wedding’s small. On her side, her parents and friends sit. There are only seven. On Clyde’s side there are twelve. It’s uneven, but that doesn’t matter to them because they have all the people they love in one room watching them tie the knot.

As the ceremony begins, a sweet-smelling breeze blows into the open-air space, as if something divine’s shifting in excitement.

I’m wiping tears from my cheeks by the time Bebe and Clyde share the _I do_ s and an innocent peck. Everyone’s crying, I think. Kenny next to me uses his sleeve to dry his eyes. Up at the front, Wendy’s sniffling and Craig’s blinking hard as the minister says, “Family and friends, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Clyde Donovan.”

The minister calls for witnesses, and Wendy and Craig sign Bebe and Clyde’s wedding certificate. Then Clyde and Bebe turn, arm in arm, walking down the aisle as everyone cheers for them. Once they disappear through the doors, everyone stands and heads out towards the ballroom.

In the ballroom, we’re seated at specific tables. There are only five tables, leaving most of the ballroom vacant for space to dance. Chandeliers shine brightly overhead. Kyle and Stan share a table with me and Kenny. Stan’s sniffling, and Kyle’s eyes are puffy.

“That was even more beautiful than my sister’s wedding,” Stan says.

Kenny laughs. “Yeah. What’s up with that?”

Clyde and Bebe have their first dance to “Prom Song Gone Wrong” or “Teenage Wasteland” because Bebe doesn’t know which is correct. I remember during the party Kenny kissed me drunkenly for the first time, she played this exact song. She held Clyde’s hand as she spun in circles. She said then that she wanted is very song to play at their wedding.

That was eight years ago.

Eight years ago, Clyde and Bebe already knew their wedding playlist. Thinking about it blows my mind. Outsiders who didn’t know them like we did doubted they’d last long enough to get married, and if they ever did, they’d divorce. Clyde and Bebe’s relationship’s the most inspiring. Unlike Tweek and Craig who found each other so easily, Clyde pined after Bebe as she dated a few boys in their first years of high school. In the back of both their minds, though, they knew they’d end up together. When Bebe broke up with what would be her last boyfriend, she and Clyde stayed friends until they were emotionally ready to be in a committed relationship with each other. They’ve been together since.

As they dance around, Bebe mouths the words, focused on Clyde in front of her. Both their eyes sparkle as they stare at each other.

As the song comes to a close, Bebe and Clyde shout the last line: _“I’m leaving, are you coming with me?”_

Everyone applauds, cheering and whooping.

After that’s the toast to the newlyweds. Wendy and Craig direct the speech towards them. Craig’s voice even cracks as he recounts how he thought Clyde was being too hopeful in thinking he’d have a chance with Bebe back when they were fourteen.

“I was so wrong. I was so wrong, dude,” he says. “You really did find the one for you. I wish I didn’t doubt that. I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud to call you my best friend.”

Everyone toasts to that ending line, the sound of murmuring agreement and clinking glasses filling the ballroom.

Naturally, the dinner served is a variety of tacos and Mexican food of the like.

“Why am I not surprised?” Kyle laughs, biting into his taco.

Music plays faintly in the background, all Taylor Swift, which also isn’t surprising, considering this is Bebe’s wedding. It’s little things like “ME!” and tacos that really allow the personality of Bebe and Clyde shine through.

After dinner, Bebe and her dad take the dance floor during the father-daughter dance. Like Clyde, Mr. Stevens is crying as he spins his daughter. She reassuringly hugs him and smiles. For the mother-son dance, Clyde’s handed a microphone. He stands in the middle of the room holding Bebe’s hand.

His voice wavers when he says, “When I was ten years old, my mother passed away. It was difficult, going through my normal day-to-day routine knowing I was missing something everyone else had. I felt out of place and lost. When I was young, it was my mom who told me it’s okay for a boy to cry. I’ve never been shy with my tears, and that’s because she taught me that showing emotion isn’t weakness. I took her for granted, like any ten-year-old might. I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it. To this day, I miss coming down the stairs and smelling the scent of lemon bars in the oven. I miss having a plate of tacos set in front of me for dinner. I miss her singing me to sleep in Dutch.” He laughs, his voice breaking. Bebe kisses his cheek in encouragement. Clyde continues, “Hell, I even miss her yelling at me to put the toilet seat down. Betsy Donovan was taken from me and my family too soon, but just because she’s not here today doesn’t mean she’s gone. Her memory still lives with me and my sister and my dad. And even though she’s not here in person to see me get married to the love of my life”—he smiles at Bebe, who smiles back—“I know she’s watching from up above. Mom, I love you.”

He waits for the applause to pass. Token hoots, “Yeah, Clyde!”

Clyde laughs, and when the quiet settles again, he lifts the microphone, continuing, “When I was fourteen, my dad married Liane Cartman. And even though she’s not my biological mom, I still see her as my mom.” He looks to where she’s sitting. “And Liane, you’ve done a great job at raising me and my brother, even if we were difficult and uncooperative in the beginning. I wouldn’t want anything else but for you to share this mother-son dance with me.”

I crane my neck past the other tables. Liane stands with her hand pressed to her heart and her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She hugs Clyde to her. Bebe steps back as Clyde leads Liane to the slow beat of the song.

Bebe has her hands clasped under her chin. She’s smiling as she watches them. She’s crying. Wendy from her table with Craig, Tweek, Red and Kevin, pats her wrist.

When Clyde and Liane finish dancing, Liane returns to her table, her hands pressed over her mouth. She’s completely sobbing.

All the girls gather on the dance floor. Instead of a bouquet toss, Bebe has her female guests, old and young, participate in a dance competition. Whoever dances the best wins the bouquet. Nichole takes Jordan onto the floor with her. He stands on her feet as she dances them around. To everyone’s surprise, Bebe doesn’t choose any of the girls to give the bouquet to. Instead, she crouches down to Jordan’s level and beams at him.

I can’t hear what Bebe’s saying to him over the music, but Bebe stands, scooping him up. She gives him the bouquet. She backs up a few steps. She points out to the crowd of women. Jordan looks at her, then back at the women. His little arm reels back, and he launches the bouquet to them. Heidi catches it after fumbling with it for a bit.

The garter toss happens next. Bebe sits in a chair in the middle of the floor with Clyde kneeled in front of her. “Dress” plays as he attempts to get a hold of the garter with his teeth. When his head’s under Bebe’s dress, Kenny wolf-whistles, and then everyone else’s wolf-whistling. Bebe laughs like it tickles, which it probably does.

When he pops up from her dress with the lacy white garter hanging from his teeth, the guys hoot and the girls cheer. All the guys gather on the floor now so we can try to catch the garter. Clyde pulls it back, and lets it go flying towards us. Kevin Stoley catches it, and everyone _Oooh_ s.

“Our Song” invites everyone to dance after that.

Everyone’s still dancing when it’s time to cut the tall wedding cake. After getting slices of their own, Clyde and Bebe dole out pieces. Kenny and I step up, congratulating them.

“So what’s your something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?” I ask Bebe as Kenny and Clyde talk.

She smiles. “I’m so glad you asked. No one else has asked, and I was getting disappointed.” She points to her dress. “The dress is new.” She touches her diamond earrings. “I borrowed these from Nichole.” She pulls back a petal of the white rose in her hair. Underneath’s a blue ribbon. “Blue.” She points to her shoes. “And these were my grandma’s.”

“Wow! So it’s a genuine fifty’s kinda item,” I say.

“Yep!” she exclaims. She takes a big bite of her cake, getting pale pink frosting on her lips. Clyde wipes it off with his napkin, kissing her. She looks back to me when he returns his attention to Kenny. “I’m gonna go ask the DJ to put on ‘Love Story.’ ”

She walks off, tugging Clyde along with her. Kenny and I trade a look. We walk out onto the balcony.

“This cake’s real good,” I say.

Kenny nods, shoveling the rest into his mouth. His speech is muffled when he says, “I know, right?”

I laugh, putting a hand on his chest as I push onto my tiptoes to kiss off the icing at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, baby doll,” I sigh.

We walk over to the stone railing, where a bush of hibiscuses hang over. Their pink petals drift to the marble floor. Kenny plucks a hibiscus from the bush, tucking it behind my ear. He holds my face for a moment, gazing down at me. Then his eyes flick over my shoulder, and the look vanishes.

“What?” I ask. “What is it, baby doll?” I turn. There are few people out on the balcony. Most are inside with the music and laughter. But then I see what caught Kenny’s eye.

Eric stands at the other end of the balcony, leaning over as he stares down at the ocean turned gold in the sinking sun.

I spin back, my stomach clenching the way it does when you see your ex in public. Though I don’t know why I should be so surprised. This _is_ his brother’s wedding, after all. And he _is_ the one who paid for everyone’s flight tickets. I find Kenny already looking at me. “What?” I demand, pointedly not looking back.

“You should go talk to him,” he says quietly.

“I don’t _want_ to,” I say, keeping my feet firmly planted.

“Do it for closure,” he says.

“What closure?” I sputter. “What’s there to close?”

“Try to make amends. You guys didn’t end on the nicest terms.”

“Well I’m sorry if me and him aren’t still friends like you and Henrietta,” I snap.

Kenny gives me a deadpan, no-nonsense look as he gently nudges me forward. Reluctantly, I sigh with a roll of my eyes. I walk slow to prolong it. I glance back at Kenny. The way he tilts his head forward silently says, _Keep going._ I huff, hurrying over to Eric’s side just so this can be over sooner.

I don’t think he notices me at first. We stand next to each other with a foot of space between our shoulders. Admittedly, I feel awkward standing here. I sneak a glance at Kenny again. He’s talking to Jimmy and Annie, but he looks at me from the corner of his eye. His hands move, signing, _Just do it._

Angrily, I sign back, _You forced me to do this. I have nothing to say to him._

 _You have a lot to say to him,_ he signs back. And then he turns away so he can’t see my hands.

Cheeks hot from the awkward air and from Kenny’s stubbornness, I look out at the water too. The stars starting to come out fleck the surface of the water like diamonds sitting on a navy velvet cushion.

I clear my throat, my fingers drumming on the railing nervously. “It’s been a while,” I say.

Eric’s answer’s delayed even though he’s right next to me. “It really has.”

The awkward silence pursues. Funny how awkward silence used to not exist when it came to me and him when we were together. Now awkward silence is all there is. I look him over from the corner of my eye. He’s in a maroon button-down and black pants. He’s wearing black red-bottom sneakers.

“How’ve you been?” I ask.

He shrugs, still looking out at the water. “Good. You?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, watching the waves of the ocean crash over sharp black rocks. “I’m good. Never been better, actually.” I don’t mean for the statement to be so biting, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“You, uh, you look different.”

The statement startles me. I stare at the side of his face, but he keeps his eyes fixated ahead. “Oh,” I say. “Thanks. I think.”

He finally faces me, but he doesn’t meet my eye. He focuses on my ear instead. “You got piercings…” His eyes fly down to my left wrist. “And a tattoo.”

My hand shoots up to my piercings, then to the small palm tree tattoo on my left wrist. “Yeah,” I find myself saying. “Kenny did my piercings back when we were twenty.” I stare down at my tattoo. It’s just a line drawing of a single palm tree. I smile at it, thinking of the identical one on Kenny’s left wrist. “As for the tattoo, we got ‘em last summer in Kauai. He has a matching one. Same hand, same place. We decided on palm trees ‘cause it reminds us of Kauai, and ‘cause it symbolizes victory, triumph, peace, returning happy from a journey, resurrection, and eternal life.”

I find myself smiling. All three of Kenny’s tattoos got something to do with eternity. He’s got his _Eternal_ tattoo in the crook of his elbow, his palm tree on his wrist, and the cross behind his ear. The common symbolism of all three tattoos is like a secret only the two of us share.

“Kauai, huh?” Eric says softly.

“Uh-huh,” I chirp. “We go every summer. We started doin’ it since back in the summer after our college graduation. It became kinda a tradition since then. We’re actually planning on moving to Kauai. When we go down this summer, we’re gonna be lookin’ at this home we found. It’s close to the ocean and everything.” I pause, seeing that two bedroom condo down on the beach, facing the ocean. I can see me and Kenny running out to the water with surfboards tucked under our arms. “We’re hopin’ to be moved in by the end of January if everything goes to plan. We’re sicka havin’ to pay rent for three spare bedrooms we don’t even use.”

“Three spare bedrooms,” Eric echoes.

I nod. “Yeah. Ever since Stan and Kyle moved out two years ago, Baby Doll and I’ve been tryna get outta there so we don’t gotta pay for unused space.”

Eric stares at me for a heartbeat before looking back out at the water. He has something in his hands, and he rolls it between his fingers. “Wow. You guys really got it figured out,” he says.

I close my eyes against a breeze, letting it caress my skin. “Yeah.” I look to him. “What about you? What’ve you been up to?”

He keeps his head low. “You know. Just... business stuff. It’s a lot, but I enjoy it.”

I put my cheek in my palm, toeing off my shoes and socks, stepping barefoot onto the warm marble floor. He’s awful vague about that. What’s business stuff even mean? I’m not in business or marketing. I work with computers and the like. I look down at his shoes, his black Louboutins. I wonder how much they costed. I wonder how much his whole outfit costs. I can’t look away from his red-bottoms, feeling like I’ve seen them before. Somewhere.

Then it clicks.

Two years ago, on TV, during an interview about how he started his company.

I find myself voicing my thoughts to him. “Two years ago, I saw a news segment about you. You were bein’ interviewed about how your business came to be. You mentioned something about goin’ through a tough time at nineteen.” We lock eyes for the first time in five years. In his mismatched irises, I can see all the old memories of us playing through his mind. “Was that time our… breakup?” I ask.

He looks away. “It was,” he mumbles.

“Oh,” I breathe. I fake a laugh. “Well, at least some good came outta all that, huh? You’re rich and successful. And me… I’m gettin’ ready to move states with Kenny.”

I stare at the back of Kenny’s head. All that frustration I felt towards him at forcing me to be here is gone. Even with him fifteen feet away, I feel bubbly and ready to burst into song. A smile works its way onto my lips.

Eric says, “I-I’m glad that you two—got together. I think I had a feeling from the very beginning.”

I turn my head to him. “Yeah?” I say.

He nods.

Silence follows. It lingers, heavy and cold. But for some reason, it doesn’t seem to reach me. My mind’s shining too brightly about the fact that in June next month, Kenny and I’ll be in Kauai, finally deciding if that homey little condo will be ours.

When Eric speaks, it dawns on me that he’s still at my side. I’m so lost in my thoughts he’s faded from my consciousness. “Um, can I ask you something?” he says.

“Sure. You can ask me anything.”

He licks his lips, his fingers twitching, his feet shuffling. Eric’s never fidgeted nervously before. But I guess being five years apart from a person, you can lose a lotta the stuff you thought you knew about them. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up from its neatness to a riptide of loose waves. “If you could…” he starts. “Would you… would you go back to me?” His voice is quiet, strained. In the last beams of sunlight, I can see that his face is red, and I don’t think it’s from sunburn.

I look out, considering the question, though I already know the answer. It’s a question I thought about a lot during the first few months of our breakup. During the first two months, I was positive that if he were to call me up again and apologize, saying he’d made a mistake, I knew that I’d go right back to him and pretend nothing ever changed. Once those first couple of months passed, though, I wasn’t so sure. I was hurt by the fact that he could so easily end something that lasted so long. Then, by twenty, I realized that Kenny was the one I’ve been waiting for. Kenny’s the one who I really need. He has my heart, body, and soul. If I were to lose him, then I’d truly be broken. Wanting Kenny made me realize that it wasn’t completely Eric’s fault those six years between us came to an end. It was partially mine too. If I really did believe Eric was the one out there for me, I wouldn’t’ve let him go so easy. I realized that if Kenny and I were put into a similar situation, I’d fight to make him stay. That's something I can’t say I’d do the same for Eric.

I smile at Kenny’s back. His laugh drifts from Jimmy’s joke to my ears, as melodic as angels singing up in the clouds plucking their harps. I answer, “If things had ended up differently between us, then maybe. But I’m happy where I am now. I found somethin’ real and right. I found someone I love so much that sometimes I can’t even wrap my head around it. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Yeah. Me too. I’m happy where I am,” he says.

I smile, and it isn’t forced. I feel like I’m walking on air. Maybe Kenny was right about this whole closure thing. “I’m glad that we both built something good outta the bad,” I say.

He smiles without teeth and without meeting my eye. “Yeah.”

I pat his shoulder, stooping to pick up my shoes. “Well, it was sure nice talkin’ to you after so long. I’ll see you around.”

He nods. “See you.”

I feel like that farewell between us was the one we never had the chance of getting when we broke up. I return to Kenny, overwhelmed in a good way. I slide my arms around him from behind, where his arms find me instantly and pull me to his front. He stops talking with Jimmy and Annie to smile down at me. I smile up at him. He kisses my nose, then my lips.

“I’ll talk to you guys later,” Kenny says to Jimmy and Annie.

Kenny escorts me out off the balcony. We walk down the pathway that leads to the beach. I can’t wait for June. I can’t wait to see that condo in Kauai waiting for us to fill it with our belongings, waiting for us to call it ours.

Sand slides between my toes, and soon it turns wet and squishy, with cool ocean water lapping over my feet. Kenny kicks off his shoes, standing with me. I take both his hands, staring down at our hollow palm tree tattoos on our left wrists. Palm trees are a symbol of happy returns from a long journey, as well as victory. To us, it’s a symbol for how we were able to return happy from breakups, even if at the time we felt we’d never be happy again. Me and Kenny are both victorious in finding love again when we were sure we never would. But we did—this time in each other. And like a word inked in the crook of an elbow, like a cross behind an ear, like a palm tree on a wrist, we know it means eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ ‘Cause there we are again when I loved you so  
> Back before you lost the one real thing you’ve ever known  
> It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well  
> Wind in my hair, you were there, you remember it all  
> Down the stairs, you were there, you remember it all  
> It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well.”  
> -All Too Well


End file.
